MARJORIE'S 
WAY 


ALICE    TURNER     CURTIS 


3" 


UNiV,  OF  GAUF.  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 


12  Marjorie 


him  for  company,"  replied  Betty,  with  a  little  one- 
sided skip.  "  Just  think,  Luke  Sanders  has  got  four 
dogs  now.  He  says  his  father  doesn't  care.  He'd 
just  as  soon  have  taken  '  Buff  '  too." 

"Is  this  dog  named?"  Margie  looked  at  Betty 
anxiously. 

"Yes,  Luke  named  all  three.  He  hardly  stopped 
to  think  a  minute.  This  one  is  'Buff,'  and  one  is 
'  Stripe,'  and  the  other  is  '  Spot.'  " 

"  Oh,  dear,"  said  Margie,  "  I  don't  like  those  names. 
I  had  a  lovely  long  name  picked  out  for  this 
one." 

"Well,"  and  Betty  skipped  sideways  with  a  little 
flirt  of  her  braid,  "father  said  that  if  Luke  named 
the  puppies  they  would  never  get  mixed  up.  He 
said  Luke  always  had  good  judgment  about  naming 
dogs." 

Margie  sighed;  it  seemed  to  her  that  you  could 
hardly  expect  as  much  from  a  puppy  named  "  Buff  " 
as  from  one  named  "  Napoleon." 

Mrs.  Philips  came  out  on  the  side  porch  as  the  two 
little  girls  came  up  through  the  flower-garden. 

"  Oh,  mother,  Betty  has  given  me  the  new  yellow 
puppy  !  "  said  Margie,  as  they  set  the  basket  down  on 
the  lower  step. 


Marjories    ff^ay  13 

"  I  hope  he  will  not  chase  the  chickens,"  said  Mrs. 
Philips  a  little  anxiously. 

"  Oh,  no,  he  won't,"  Betty  assured  her,  giving  a 
gay  little  jump.  "  He  has  been  whipped  twice,  very 
carefully,  for  running  after  the  guinea-hens,  and  now 
he  knows  better." 

"  Do  you  really  want  to  keep  him  ?  "  asked  Mrs. 
Philips,  with  a  little  sigh,  turning  to  Margie. 

"  Oh,  mother,  of  course  I  do  !  Luke  has  four  dogs, 
and  his  father  doesn't  care." 

Mrs.  Philips  smiled  a  little,  and  stroked  the  puppy's 
shining  golden-brown  ears,  and  Margie  knew  that  the 
puppy  was  hers. 

"  I  must  go  right  home  now,"  said  Betty,  picking 
up  the  basket  by  one  handle.  "My  Grandmother 
Savory  is  coming  to-day  to  make  a  visit.  Father 
drove  in  to  Columbia  after  her  this  morning.  Mother 
was  right  glad  to  get  rid  of  the  puppies  before  grandma 
came.  She  says  grandma  doesn't  like  dogs."  Betty's 
bright  face  grew  sober.  "  Margie,"  she  continued, 
"  my  grandmother  thinks  it's  time  I  went  to  Columbia 
and  began  to  go  to  school,  and  lived  with  her." 

Margie  nearly  loosened  her  grip  on  the  squirming 
puppy  in  her  surprise. 

"  That's  what  she  wrote  my  mother,"  went  on  Betty ; 


Aunt  Cora  came  out  to  the  shaded 


Marjorie's  Way 

By 

ALICE  TURNER  CURTIS 

Author   of  "Marjorie's  Schooldays,"    Etc. 
Illustrated   by   E.   M.    Nagel 


The    Penn    Publishing    Company 

Philadelphia 

1911 


COPYRIGHT  1905  BY  THE  PENN  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 


Introduction 

MARJORIE  PHILIPS  had  two  ambitions.  One  was 
to  be  like  her  aunt,  Miss  Maria  Wing,  whom  she  was 
visiting  in  Ashley,  a  small  New  England  town.  The 
other  was  to  help  Luke  Sanders,  a  poor  boy  whom  she 
left  behind  her  among  the  South  Carolina  cotton  fields. 
How  both  of  these  ambitions  were  realized,  in  ways 
very  surprising  to  Marjorie,  is  the  story  of  this  book, 
together  with  many  delightful  good  times  that  Mar- 
jorie found  among  her  new  friends  in  Ashley.  Those 
who  would  like  to  know  more  about  Marjorie,  Ada, 
and  Adrienne  will  find  them  again  in  "Marjorie's 
Schooldays." 


Contents 

CHAP.  PAGE. 

I     PLANS  AND  A  PUPPY 5 

II     AUNT  CORA'S  CAKES 16 

III  LUKE  LOSES  SOMETHING 28 

IV  ABOUT  LUKE'S  CLOTHES 35 

V     A  JOURNEY  FOR  MARGIE 44 

VI     AUNT  MARIA'S  HOUSE 50 

VII     SARAH  MULLINS'  MANNERS 60 

VIII     BETTY'S  WIGWAM 72 

IX     LUKE'S  LESSONS 82 

X    A  PICNIC  AT  THE  PINES 91 

XI     A  DAY  OF  DELIGHTS 102 

XII     LUKE'S  LUCK 115 

XIII  SALUDA  SWAMP 124 

XIV  A  PIECE  OF  PUNK 135 

XV  JUST  LIKE  AUNT  MARIA 146 

XVI  MARGIE'S  FAIR 157 

XVII  LUKE  MAKES  A  NEW  FRIEND      ....  166 

XVIII     THE  SURPRISE 171 

XIX     MR.  FIELD'S  NEW  PICTURE 177 

XX    MARGIE  AND  LUKE 187 


Illustrations 

PAGE 

AUNT  CORA  CAME  OUT  TO  THE  SHADED  PORCH 

Frontispiece 

THEY  WALKED  UP  THE  PATH  TO  THE  FRONT  DOOR  .   54 
LUKE  CAME  EVERY  DAY  FOR  HIS  LESSON  ...     .85 
"  OH,  ADA,  IT  ALL  CRINKLES  ABOUT  MY  FACE"  .     .154 
"WHY,"  SHE  EXCLAIMED,  "  THAT  is  LUKE  SAN- 
DERS!" .    1 80 


Marjorie's  Way 


MARJORIE'S  WAY 

CHAPTER  I 

PLANS  AND   A  PUPPY 

MARGIE  PHILIPS  sat  on  the  broad  porch  which 
sheltered  the  side-door  where  the  big  rose-tree  grew. 
A  little  breeze  came  across  the  cotton-field  and  the 
jessamine  and  honeysuckle  vines  moved  lazily  with  a 
little  rustling,  sleepy  noise. 

Margie  sighed,  a  little  happy  sigh,  as  she  looked  out 
over  the  tangled  vines  and  blossoms  of  the  garden. 
On  the  other  side  of  the  cotton-field  and  beyond  the 
growth  of  small  pines  she  could  catch  a  glimpse  of  an- 
other house  where  her  friend  Betty  Savory  lived. 
Margie  was  thinking  about  Betty,  and  of  a  present 
which  Betty  had  promised  her.  There  were  three 
new  setter  puppies  at  the  Savory  plantation,  and  Betty 
had  said  that  Margie  should  have  one  of  them. 

"  I  do  hope  'twill  be  the  yellow  one,"  thought  Margie. 
"  If  she  should  give  it  to  Luke  Sanders  he  might  give  it 
a  dreadful  name.  He  calls  one  of  his  dogs  '  Jones,'  just 
because  Mr.  Jones  gave  it  to  him.  If  Betty  should 

5 


6  Marjories    Way 

give  me  the  yellow  puppy  I  should  name  him — I 
should  name  him "  and  Margie  hesitated  a  mo- 
ment, then  remembering  a  formidable  row  of  books  in 
the  living-room  she  decided  instantly,  "  I  should  name 
him  'Napoleon.'"  Margie  looked  across  the  field, 
thinking  it  was  about  time  for  Betty  or  Luke  to  ap- 
pear. "  Oh,  dear,"  she  said  aloud,  "  I  don't  see  how 
Luke  will  manage  about  learning  to  write  after  I  go 
away.  I  don't  see  how  he  can  go  to  school  without 
better  clothes,  either,"  and  she  sighed  again.  "  I  won- 
der what  Aunt  Maria  would  do  ?  " 

Margie's  home  was  a  large  comfortable  plantation 
house,  but  it  had  evidently  seen  better  days.  Not  a 
vestige  of  paint  could  be  seen  on  its  gray  exterior. 
Indoors  there  were  evident  signs  that  there  was  but 
little  money  to  be  spent  on  replenishing  worn-out  fur- 
nishings. The  carpet  on  the  living-room  was  worn  to 
a  grayness  which  betrayed  nothing  of  its  original  de- 
sign. The  ceiling  and  walls  were  dull  and  discolored. 
The  wide  old  sofa  sank  in  mountainous  ripples,  and 
the  various  chairs  had  evidently  been  frequently  re- 
paired by  unskilled  hands. 

To  Margie  it  seemed  the  most  delightful  house  in 
the  world.  She  often  thought  of  the  sitting-room  at 
Betty  Savory's.  At  Betty's  there  were  shining  new 


Marjories    W^ay  7 

tables,  a  bright  carpet,  and  chairs  that  were  evidently 
not  intended  to  sit  in,  because  Betty's  mother  fre- 
quently said  that  little  girls  must  be  very  careful  and 
not  knock  their  feet  against  the  legs  of  the  chairs ; 
and  Margie  was  quite  sure  that  no  one,  unless  it  were 
a  very  tall  person,  fully  grown  up,  could  possibly  sit 
in  a  chair  without  sometimes  hitting  her  feet  against 
the  chair-legs. 

She  often  felt  sorry  for  Betty.  For  one  thing,  the 
Savory  house  was  so  new.  There  was  no  delightful 
old  attic,  filled  with  trunks  and  boxes  and  dilapidated 
old  furniture,  where  little  girls  could  play  on  rainy 
days.  Betty  did  not  have  such  a  nice  garden,  either, 
and,  poor  Betty,  she  did  not  have  any  Aunt  Maria ! 

At  the  Savory  plantation  there  were  teams  of  big, 
strong  mules  to  do  the  heavy  work  of  ploughing  and 
breaking  up  new  ground ;  there  were  prosperous  herds 
of  young  cattle,  and  horses  for  driving 'and  riding. 
At  the  Philips'  there  was  only  one  mule,  whose  life 
was  one  of  constant  toil ;  there  were  only  two  cows, 
and  a  big  flock  of  hens,  that  were  under  one's  feet  all 
over  the  place. 

An  old  white  dog,  "Uncle,"  had  been  Margie's 
playmate  since  she  was  a  baby.  But  Uncle  was 
getting  too  fat  and  indolent,  and  too  old  to  skip 


8  Marjories 

about  after  his  little  mistress ;  and  Betty,  the  proud 
possessor  of  three  young  puppies,  which  the  Irish 
setter  had  made  a  home  for  in  the  new  dog  kennels, 
had  partly  promised  Margie  the  all  yellow  one.  The 
other  two  had  black  spots  on  their  neck  and  legs. 

Margie  had  a  good  deal  to  think  of  this  morning. 
There  was  the  new  puppy,  and  something  else  very 
delightful  and  important.  Aunt  Maria  Wing  had 
written  that,  as  Margie  was  now  nearly  ten  years  old, 
she  thought  she  ought  to  go  regularly  to  school ;  and 
that  she  wanted  her  to  come  to  Ashley,  Mrs.  Philips' 
old  home,  and  live  with  her  and  go  to  school. 

Aunt  Maria  lived  in  the  same  house  where  Margie's 
mother  was  born.  Years  ago,  when  Margie  was  only 
two  years  old,  Aunt  Maria  had  come  to  the  plantation 
for  a  visit.  Margie  sometimes  wished  that  her  name 
had  been  "  Maria  "  instead  of  Margie,  for  she  had  often 
resolved  to  herself  to  be  just  like  her  Aunt  Maria 
when  she  grew  up,  because  Mrs.  Philips  said  that  no 
one  could  be  more  lovely  than  sister  Maria.  Margie 
was  glad,  however,  that  her  name  began  with  "  M  " 
even  if  it  was  not  "Maria."  Her  father  sometimes 
called  her  "  Sweet  Marjorie,"  but  "  Margie  "  was  the 
pet  name  given  her  by  her  friends.  She  had  confided 
in  Betty  that  when  she  grew  older,  she  should  be 


Marjories    tf^ay  g 

called  "  Miss  Marjorie,"  because  a  great  many  peo- 
ple called  her  aunt  "  Miss  Maria."  Margie  was 
always  eager  to  hear  of  what  Aunt  Maria  had 
done  when  she  was  Margie's  age,  and  she  and 
Betty  played  many  of  the  games  which  Mrs. 
Philips  told  them  that  she  and  Aunt  Maria  had 
played.  But  the  story  Margie  liked  best  of  all  was 
the  one  her  mother  told  her  about  Aunt  Maria, 
when  she  was  a  little  girl,  teaching  his  letters  to 
a  little  lame  boy  who  could  not  go  to  school,  carry- 
ing him  her  books  to  read,  and  saving  all  her 
pennies  until  she  had  enough  money  to  pay  for 
drawing  lessons  for  him.  Margie  always  waited 
for  her  mother  to  say,  "  and  he  showed  such 
talent  that  others  became  interested,  and  he  had 
lessons  from  one  of  the  best  artists  in  Boston,  and 
now  he  is  an  artist  himself;  and  he  always  says 
he  owes  everything  he  is  to  your  Aunt  Maria." 

Margie  often  wished  she  could  help  some  one  that 
way.  She  did  not  know  any  lame  boy,  but  there  was 
Luke  Sanders,  who  lived  in  the  little  cabin  on  the 
main  road,  and  who  had  often  said  that  he  would 
like  to  learn  to  write.  She  had  resolved  that  he 
should  be  her  pupil.  At  first  Luke  copied  Margie's 
neat  "  a's  "  and  "  b's  "  rather  reluctantly,  but  he  had 


10  Marjories    Way 

finally  become  interested,  and  declared  that  if  he 
only  had  proper  clothes  he  would  attend  the  school 
when  it  began  in  the  fall. 

As  Margie  sat  thinking  about  all  these  things  she 
heard  some  one  calling  her  name — "  Mar-gie,"  "  Mar- 
gie," and  she  looked  up  to  see  Betty  coming  up  the 
path  at  the  edge  of  the  cotton-field. 

Betty  was  carrying  a  large  basket  and  walked 
very  slowly.  "Oh,  Margie,"  she  called,  "I  wish't 
you  would  come  and  help  bring  your  puppy.  He's 
'most  as  heavy  as — as  a  bossy-calf ! " 

"  O-oh !  "  exclaimed  Margie  joyfully,  and  hurried 
down  the  steps  along  the  path.  When  Betty  saw  her 
coming  she  put  down  the  basket  and  straightened  up 
her  shoulders.  Her  brown  eyes  danced  gaily,  her 
yellow  hair  was  drawn  smoothly  into  a  big  braid, 
but  the  braid  seemed  to  dance  about  her  shoulders, 
and  as  she  waited  for  Margie  she  hopped  up  and 
down  with  impatience. 

"  Oh,  Betty,  were  you  really  bringing  it  over  to  give 
to  me  to  keep  ?  "  called  Margie  before  she  reached  her 
friend. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  laughed  Betty,  "  and  mother's  right 
glad  to  be  rid  of  him.  He  chewed  up  two  napkins  this 
morning.  Father  has  given  the  other  two  to  Luke." 


Marjorie 


Margie  had  reached  Betty's  side  by  this  time,  and 
was  kneeling  beside  the  covered  basket. 

"Just  hear  him  cry,  Betty,  he  wants  to  get  out," 
she  said. 

"Well,  he  can't,"  said  Betty  seriously,  dancing 
around  to  the  other  side  of  the  basket.  "If  we 
should  let  him  out  he  would  go  straight  home, 
and  then  my  mother  would  have  him  disposed  of; 
she  said  if  your  folks  didn't  keep  him  she  should 
dispose  of  him!"  Even  Betty  grew  sober  as  she 
announced  her  mother's  decision. 

"  Couldn't  we  lead  him  home  ?  Oh,  see  his  little 
yellow  nose!  Betty,  I  could  carry  him  home  in 
my  arms.  I'd  love  to." 

Betty  giggled  again.  "  He  squirms  worse  than  a 
worm,"  she  said.  "He  wriggles  all  over  and  slides 
right  away,  no  matter  how  strong  you  hold  him.  We 
mus'n't  let  him  out  till  we  get  to  your  house,  and  then 
you  must  feed  him  right  away  and  keep  him  tied  up 
for  days  and  days,  and  only  take  him  walking  with  a 
string  ;  Luke  Sanders  says  so." 

"  I  wonder  how  '  Uncle  '  will  like  him,"  said  Margie, 
taking  hold  of  one  side  of  the  basket,  while  Betty 
grasped  the  other. 

"  I  should  think  Uncle  would  be  real  glad  to  have 


12  Marjorie 


him  for  company,"  replied  Betty,  with  a  little  one- 
sided skip.  "  Just  think,  Luke  Sanders  has  got  four 
dogs  now.  He  says  his  father  doesn't  care.  He'd 
just  as  soon  have  taken  '  Buff  '  too." 

"  Is  this  dog  named  ?  "  Margie  looked  at  Betty 
anxiously. 

"  Yes,  Luke  named  all  three.  He  hardly  stopped 
to  think  a  minute.  This  one  is  'Buff,'  and  one  is 
'  Stripe,'  and  the  other  is  '  Spot.'  " 

"  Oh,  dear,"  said  Margie,  "  I  don't  like  those  names. 
I  had  a  lovely  long  name  picked  out  for  this 
one." 

"Well,"  and  Betty  skipped  sideways  with  a  little 
flirt  of  her  braid,  "father  said  that  if  Luke  named 
the  puppies  they  would  never  get  mixed  up.  He 
said  Luke  always  had  good  judgment  about  naming 
dogs." 

Margie  sighed;  it  seemed  to  her  that  you  could 
hardly  expect  as  much  from  a  puppy  named  "  Buff  " 
as  from  one  named  "  Napoleon." 

Mrs.  Philips  came  out  on  the  side  porch  as  the  two 
little  girls  came  up  through  the  flower-garden. 

"  Oh,  mother,  Betty  has  given  me  the  new  yellow 
puppy  !  "  said  Margie,  as  they  set  the  basket  down  on 
the  lower  step. 


Marjories    UFay  13 

"  I  hope  he  will  not  chase  the  chickens,"  said  Mrs. 
Philips  a  little  anxiously. 

"Oh,  no,  he  won't,"  Betty  assured  her,  giving  a 
gay  little  jump.  "  He  has  been  whipped  twice,  very 
carefully,  for  running  after  the  guinea-hens,  and  now 
he  knows  better." 

"  Do  you  really  want  to  keep  him  ?  "  asked  Mrs. 
Philips,  with  a  little  sigh,  turning  to  Margie. 

"  Oh,  mother,  of  course  I  do  !  Luke  has  four  dogs, 
and  his  father  doesn't  care." 

Mrs.  Philips  smiled  a  little,  and  stroked  the  puppy's 
shining  golden-brown  ears,  and  Margie  knew  that  the 
puppy  was  hers. 

"  I  must  go  right  home  now,"  said  Betty,  picking 
up  the  basket  by  one  handle.  "My  Grandmother 
Savory  is  coming  to-day  to  make  a  visit.  Father 
drove  in  to  Columbia  after  her  this  morning.  Mother 
was  right  glad  to  get  rid  of  the  puppies  before  grandma 
came.  She  says  grandma  doesn't  like  dogs."  Betty's 
bright  face  grew  sober.  "Margie,"  she  continued, 
"  my  grandmother  thinks  it's  time  I  went  to  Columbia 
and  began  to  go  to  school,  and  lived  with  her." 

Margie  nearly  loosened  her  grip  on  the  squirming 
puppy  in  her  surprise. 

"  That's  what  she  wrote  my  mother,"  went  on  Betty ; 


14  Marjorie 


"  and  that  was  one  reason  I  was  glad  you  and  Luke 
wanted  the  puppies.  I  thought  the  puppies  would 
make  you  think  of  me,"  and  Betty  reached  into  her 
skirt  pocket  after  her  handkerchief,  while  Margie  gave 
an  audible  sniffle,  and  said,  "  Shall  you  go  to  school  ?  " 

A  little  smile  came  back  to  Betty's  face.  "  Why, 
didn't  I  just  tell  you  that  my  grandma  says  it  is  time  ? 
1  High  time  '  is  what  she  wrote." 

"Oh,  Betty,"  said  Margie  mournfully,  forgetting 
for  the  moment  all  the  prospective  joys  of  living  with 
Aunt  Maria,  "  don't  dreadful  things  happen  ?  " 

"  But  you  don't  have  to  go  to  Columbia,"  said  Betty 
reproachfully,  "  or  live  with  your  grandmother  and  go 
to  school.  You  can  stay  here  and  say  your  lessons  to 
your  mother  and  teach  Luke,  and  everything." 

"  Oh,  Betty,  haven't  I  told  you  ?  " 

"  No.    What  is  it,  Margie  ?  " 

"I  forgot,  having  Buff  come,  and  hearing  about 
Luke  Sanders  naming  the  puppies  such  homely  names, 
and  being  afraid  my  mother  wouldn't  let  me  keep 
Buff,  and  a  little  worried,  not  much,  but  just  the  lit- 
tlest bit,  that  Uncle  might  hurt  Buff  !  I  forgot  !  " 

"  Forgot  what  ?  "  and  Betty  jumped  down  two  steps 
and  back,  and  thumped  the  basket  up  and  down. 
"  What  have  you  forgot  ?  " 


Marjories    IF  ay 


"  That  I  am  going  away,  too.  Way  off  in  a  country 
called  Massachusetts,  where  mother  used  to  live." 
For  the  moment  Margie  forgot  that  Aunt  Maria  lived 
in  that  far  off  country. 

"My!"  said  Betty,  and,  forgetting  that  she  had 
meant  to  go  directly  home,  she  again  seated  herself 
on  the  step.  "  Why,  who  will  teach  Luke  if  you  go 
away  ? " 

Marjorie  sat  down  beside  her.  "  That  is  just  what  is 
worrying  me.  I  don't  see  how  I  can  plan  for  him  to 
have  drawing  lessons  either." 


CHAPTEE  II 

AUNT   CORA'S   CAKES 

BETTY  leaned  back  against  the  upper  step  and 
looked  at  her  friend  questioningly.  "  Do  you  suppose 
when  you  go  to  school  that  they  will  call  you  '  Mar- 
jorie,'  or  just '  Margie '  ?  "  she  asked. 

Marjorie  looked  sober  for  a  minute.  "  "Well,  I  don't 
know ;  but  my  name  is  '  Marjorie,'  of  course,  and  as 
none  of  them  know  me  very  well  I  should  think 
likely  they  would  call  me  '  Miss  Marjorie,'  at  first." 

Betty  nodded  approvingly.  "What  do  you  want 
Luke  to  draw  ?  "  she  continued. 

"  Oh,  pictures !  You  and  me  on  these  steps,  per- 
haps, or  our  house ;  and  then,  when  he  gets  to  be  a 
man,  he'll  say  it  was  because  I  helped  him,"  said 
Margie. 

"  I  guess  Luke  won't  want  to  draw,"  persisted  Betty. 
"  My  father  said  the  Sanders  were  all  ignorant.  Why, 
Mr.  Sanders  can't  read." 

"Well,  Luke  can  read,"  replied  Margie,  "and  he 
can  write  'most  as  well  as  I  can,  and  if  I  can  manage 
to  get  him  clothes  he's  going  to  school  this  fall." 

"  How  can  you  get  him  clothes,"  said  Betty,  wx>n- 

16 


Marjories    W^ay  17 

deringly,  "if  you  go  way  off?"  and  then,  without 
waiting  for  her  question  to  be  answered,  she  said, 
"  Oh,  Margie,  I  know  'tain't  perlite  to  say  you  are 
hungry  when  you  are  visiting ;  but  this  isn't  a  real 
visit,  and  I  wouldn't  think  of  asking  for  cake,  nice  as 
your  cake  is,  but  just  a  piece  of  bread  with  the  littlest 
bit  of  sugar  on  it.  Do  you  suppose  your  mother 
would  excuse  me  if  I  asked  for  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I'm  hungry  too,  Betty.  Let's  step  right  round 
to  the  kitchen,"  responded  Margie.  "It's  funny  we 
both  happened  to  be  hungry  to-day.  This  is  the  day 
Aunt  Cora  bakes  cake,  and  sometimes,  not  always,  but 
just  sometimes,  she  bakes  little  ones  in  crinkly  tins  for 
me." 

The  two  little  girls  ran  round  the  corner,  and  Aunt 
Cora's  shining  black  face  peered  at  them  from  the 
kitchen  window. 

"Fur  de  land  sake,  wot  you  got,  missy?"  she 
asked,  pointing  at  the  puppy,  who  was  close  at  Mar- 
gie's heels ;  and  Buff's  history  was  briefly  explained. 

"And  Aunt  Cora,  Betty  brought  him  way  over 
here,  that  is,  most  of  the  way,  I  helped  a  little ;  but 
we  do  feel  hungry,"  and  Margie  looked  up  pleadingly. 
"  And  I  should  like  to  offer  Betty  a  cake,  after  all 
her  trouble,"  she  concluded  impressively. 


i8  Marjories    IF  ay 

"  Wy,  'cose,  missy.  Seems  sort  of  strange  I  was 
jest  a-bakin'  cakes ! "  and  the  old  negress  chuckled  de- 
lightedly. "'Cose  you  want  to  offer  'freshments  to 
comp'ny.  You  step  right  into  the  shade,  and  Aunt 
Cora'll  fetch  yer  out  some  'freshments." 

Margie  and  Betty  exchanged  a  delighted  look. 
Aunt  Cora's  treats  were  well  known  to  them  both. 
Uncle  had  appeared,  and  apparently  was  inclined  to 
be  pleased  with  the  puppy,  while  Buff  regarded  the 
fat  white  dog  with  evident  admiration  and  delight. 
After  a  little  the  puppy  followed  his  fat  friend  to- 
ward the  stable. 

Aunt  Cora  came  out  to  the  shady  porch  that 
opened  from  the  kitchen,  where  the  two  little  girls 
were  waiting.  She  had  a  china  plate  in  each  hand. 
Upon  each  plate  rested  a  good  sized  tart  filled  with 
grape  jelly,  and  beside  it  a  small  round  cake  with 
crinkly  edges.  A  little  biscuit  spread  with  fresh  but- 
ter completed  the  feast. 

"  I  cal'klate  yer  won't  see  many  cakes  up  Norf, 
missy,"  remarked  Aunt  Cora  pityingly,  as  she  handed 
Margie  her  plate. 

"  Oh,"  said  Betty,  "  isn't  this  lovely ! " 

"  I'm  fetchin'  some  cool  milk,"  called  Aunt  Cora  as 
she  went  toward  the  spring-house. 


Marjories    If^ay  19 

"  There  !  and  I  was  so  thirsty,"  said  Betty  happily. 
"  Margie,  my  braid  seems  all  loose,  someway ;  do 
you  s'pose  you  could  braid  it  over  before  I  go 
home  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Margie. 

Betty  bit  into  her  tart,  and  turned  an  ecstatic  look 
toward  her  friend.  "  To  think  my  mother  wants  me 
to  go  to  Columbia ! "  she  said,  as  soon  as  the  tart  per- 
mitted her  to  speak. 

"  And  mine  wants  me  to  go  to  Massachusetts,"  said 
Margie. 

"  Oh,  Margie  !  "  Betty's  voice  was  very  sympathetic, 
and  she  was  deeply  surprised  when  her  friend  responded 
cheerfully, 

"  It's  a  right  nice  place,  and  I  shall  have  lots  of  nice 
little  girls  to  play  with.  Not  just  one  girl,  like  you, 
Betty,  but " 

Marjorie's  remarks  were  not  finished,  for  Betty  had 
carefully  set  her  plate  on  the  bench  and,  with  an 
offended  glance  toward  Marjorie,  walked  off  toward 
the  garden.  She  paused  before  turning  the  corner, 
and  loftily  remarked, 

"  I  bid  you  good-bye,  Miss  Philips." 

Just  as  Betty  disappeared  Aunt  Cora  came  back 
with  two  glasses  of  foaming  milk.  "Whar's  yo' 


20  Marjories    tf^ay    , 

comp'ny,  missy?"  she  asked,  stopping  before  she 
reached  the  kitchen  porch. 

"  She's  just  stepped  round  the  corner,  Aunt  Cora." 

"  Roun'  de  corner  ?  Well,  you  step  after  her  and 
fetch  her  to  get  this  milk  while  it's  cool." 

So  Margie  hurried  after  the  offended  Betty,  glad  of 
an  excuse  to  make  friends. 

"  Oh,  Betty,  Betty,"  she  called,  running  toward  the 
front  of  the  house,  "  come  and  get  your  milk ;  it's 
right  out  of  the  spring-house,  and  cool  as  cool ! " 

Betty  was  standing  close  to  the  big  rose-bush  at  the 
corner  of  the  house.  She  did  not  turn  at  Margie's 
voice,  so  Margie  came  near  to  her  and  touched  her 
arm. 

"  Don't  you  want  some  cool  milk,  Betty  ?  "  she  said 
gently. 

"  You  know  I'm  just  as  thirsty,"  said  Betty  plain- 
tively ;  "  but  you  said  you  should  like  those  Northern 
girls  better  than  you  do  me  ! " 

"  Oh,  Betty  Savory  !  I  didn't  say  any  such  thing ! 
I  just  said  there  would  be  lots  of  girls  to  play  with  in- 
stead of  one.  How  could  I  like  any  girl  so  well  as 
you,  Betty  ! "  Margie's  dark  eyes  were  very  soft,  and 
her  voice  sounded  as  if  she  felt  as  badly  as  Betty,  so 
Betty  relented  and  smiled  a  little. 


Marjories    ff^ay  21 

"  The  milk  looks  all  creamy,"  suggested  Margie,  as 
she  smiled  back  at  her  friend  ;  and  they  both  hurried 
back  to  the  kitchen  door  where  Aunt  Cora  stood  wait- 
ing. 

"Isn't  it  funny,  Margie,  that  we  are  both  going 
away  ?  I  don't  have  to  go  till  September." 

"  Oh,"  responded  Margie,  "  I  don't  go  to  school  un- 
til September,  but  my  Aunt  Maria  thinks  it  will  be 
nice  for  me  to  come  right  away  and  have  the  summer 
to  get  acquainted.  Just  think,  I  shan't  come  home 
for  two  whole  years  !  " 

"Why!  Why,  that's  forever  and  ever!  I  am  to 
come  home  every  month  and  stay  over  Sunday." 

Just  then  Mrs.  Philips  came  up  the  steps,  and  the 
little  girls  moved  along  to  make  room  for  her  on  the 
bench  beside  them. 

"  We  were  just  talking  about  going  away,"  said 
Margie,  and  her  mother  thought  there  was  a  tone  of 
sadness  in  her  little  girl's  voice. 

Mrs.  Philips  had  some  knitting-work  in  her  hand, 
and  for  a  moment  she  did  not  reply,  but  seemed  to  be 
thinking  about  her  work.  After  a  moment  she  said, 

"Well,  you  are  both  very  fortunate  little  girls, 
aren't  you  ?  To  go  and  live  with  such  nice  people  as 
Grandma  Savory  and  Aunt  Maria,  to  go  to  school, 


22 


Marjorie 


and  grow  up  to  be  just  the  kind  of  women  that  we  all 
expect  you  to  be,"  and  Mrs.  Philips  smiled  brightly 
upon  the  eager  little  faces. 

Margie  leaned  against  her  mother  and  watched  the 
busy  needles  moving  back  and  forth. 

"I  suppose  you  want  me  to  be  just  like  Aunt 
Maria,"  she  said. 

Her  mother  laughed  a  little.  "  That  is  what  you 
want  to  be,  yourself,  isn't  it  ?  Well,  your  father  and  I 
will  be  satisfied  if  you  make  just  such  a  woman  as 
Aunt  Maria,"  she  responded. 

"  I  s'pose  I  shall  be  like  grandma,"  said  Betty,  a  lit- 
tle doubtfully. 

"  And  I  am  sure  your  mother  and  father  will  like 
that.  You  will  have  lovely  things  to  write  Margie 
about,  Betty.  You  must  write  her  all  about  Colum- 
bia, and  about  your  grandmother's  fine  house,  and  her 
beautiful  china.  Why,  Betty,  did  you  know  that  your 
grandmother  has  cups  and  saucers,  and  all  sorts  of 
dishes,  that  were  brought  from  France  over  a  hun- 
dred years  ago  ?  Yes,  indeed,  and  they  are  as  deli- 
cate and  fragile  as  it  is  possible  for  china  to  be. 
When  the  terrible  war  came  your  grandmother  and 
her  servants  buried  the  china  in  the  cellar,  and  it 
stayed  there  until  peace  was  declared.  You  must  be 


Marjories    If^ay  23 

sure  to  write  Margie  all  about  the  china.  Then,  too, 
Betty,  you  are  to  go  to  a  nice  school,  and  you  will 
make  many  new  friends." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Betty  hopefully.  "  Won't  it  be  nice, 
Margie  ?  " 

"  I  shall  get  acquainted  with  nice  girls,  too,"  sug- 
gested Margie. 

"  Why,  of  course  you  will,"  responded  Mrs.  Philips. 
"  You  are  both  going  to  have  such  good  times ;  but 
Margie's  will  begin  first,  Betty,  because  she  will  start 
for  Ashley  in  two  weeks ;  so  she  will  have  to  write 
the  first  letter  to  you. 

"In  Ashley  Margie  will  go  to  the  same  school  I 
used  to  attend  when  I  was  her  age,  and  some  of  the 
girls  who  were  my  friends  then  have  grown  into 
women  and  have  little  daughters  about  Margie's  age, 
and  she  will  have  them  for  her  playmates.  Margie 
can  write  you  about  them,  and,  when  winter  comes 
she  will  tell  you  about  the  sliding  and  skating,  and 
about  the  beautiful  pine  grove  where  we  used  to 
play." 

"  Oh,  Margie ! "  said  Betty  happily,  "  we  shall  have 
lots  to  write,"  then,  looking  admiringly  at  Mrs. 
Philips,  she  said,  "  Don't  you  wish  you  were  a  little 
girl,  Mrs.  Philips,  to  go  away  to  school  ?  " 


24  Marjories 

Mrs.  Philips  nodded  smilingly. 

"  I  s'pose  I  must  be  going  home,"  said  Betty  re- 
gretfully, "  if  you'll  fix  my  hair,  Margie  ?  " 

"  Come  right  up  to  my  room,"  said  Margie,  in  what 
she  felt  to  be  a  very  grown-up  manner,  and  much  like 
the  way  in  which  Aunt  Maria  would  speak,  "  and  I'll 
make  your  hair  tidy." 

Betty  followed  her  friend  into  the  big  hall  which 
ran  straight  through  the  house.  The  stairs  curved 
like  the  letter  S,  and  when  Betty  and  Margie  were 
"really"  little  girls,  not  more  than  seven  years  old, 
they  thought  it  great  fun  to  slide  down  the  shining 
walnut  banisters.  Even  now  Margie  sometimes  for- 
got her  ambition  to  be  a  "truly  grown-up"  person, 
and  slid  swiftly  down  the  delightful  curves. 

Betty  sat  very  quietly  while  Margie  brushed  and 
braided  her  hair. 

"You  can  do  almost  everything,  can't  you,  Mar- 
gie ?  "  she  said  gratefully,  when  it  was  finished. 

"  You  know  I  am  'most  a  year  older  than  you, 
Betty,"  responded  Margie,  trying  not  to  feel  too 
proud.  "  When  you  are  older  you  will  prob'ly  know 
'most  as  much  as  I  do." 

"  Oh,  yes !  "  replied  Betty  cheerfully.  "  I  shouldn't 
wonder  if  I  knew  more.  My  grandmother  speaks 


Marjories    IF  ay  2$ 

French,  and  I  am  to  learn  that ;  and  then,  too,  I  am  to 
take  music  lessons ;  so,  prob'ly,  I  shall  know  a  good 
deal  more  than  you  do.  What  do  you  s'pose  you'll 
learn,  Margie  ?  " 

This  new  point  of  view  made  Marjorie  silent  for  a 
moment.  She  was  not  angry,  only  surprised. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  answered  slowly.  "  Of  course 
the  chief  thing  is  for  me  to  learn  to  be  just  like  my 
Aunt  Maria." 

Betty  shook  her  head.  "  I  don't  believe  you  will," 
she  said. 

"  "Well,"  responded  Margie,  "  of  course  I  may  not 
be  as  lovely  as  she  is,  but  I  can  learn  to  act  the  way 
she  does." 

"  Oh,  she  ain't  lovely,"  said  Betty.  "  My  mother  re- 
members her,  and  she  says  Miss  Maria  Wing  is  a  right 
plain  person." 

"  Betty  Savory !  my  aunt  is  lovely !  She  has 
beautiful  eyes,  and  she  smiles  all  the  time ;  and  she 
is  tall,  oh,  ever  so  tall,"  said  Margie,  whose  ideal  of 
beauty  was  to  be  taller  than  any  one  else,  "  and  she  is 
good,  good  as  can  be  !  "  she  concluded. 

"  My  mother  says  Miss  Maria  Wing  is  short ;  stubby 
was  what  she  said  she  was,  stubby,"  and  Betty  re- 
peated the  word  with  emphasis.  Margie  was  very 


26  Marjories    ff^ay 

near  to  tears,  but  she  had  been  taught  that  one  must 
always  be  polite  to  a  guest,  so  she  choked  back  the 
little  sob,  and  the  angry  words  which  were  so  near, 
her  lips,  and  said,  "  Well,  Betty,  you  were  real  good 
to  give  me  the  puppy.  I'll  fetch  the  basket  home 
to-morrow." 

"I  s'pose  I  must  be  going,"  responded  Betty 
meekly  ;  and  then,  resolving  not  to  be  out  done  in  po- 
liteness she  said,  "  I  enjoyed  my  lunch,  the  tart  'spe- 
cially ;  and  I  can  take  the  basket  as  well  as  not.  I'm 
sure  you're  welcome  to  Buff." 

Margie  held  open  the  chamber  door  for  her  guest 
to  pass  out  first,  and  politely  followed  her  down  the 
stairs  and  across  the  hall  to  the  porch.  Betty  picked 
up  her  basket  from  the  steps.  "  Good-bye,"  she  said. 

"I'll  walk  a  little  way  with  you,"  said  Margie, 
taking  hold  of  the  basket.  "  Please  let  me  carry  it, 
Betty,  as  far  as  the  woods ;  then  you  can  take  it  the 
rest  of  the  way." 

"  You're  real  good,  Margie,"  said  Betty.  "  I 
shouldn't  be  s'prised  a  mite  if  your  Aunt  Maria  was 
tall,  as  tall  as  Luke  Sanders'  father,  maybe." 

Mr.  Sanders  was  the  tallest  man  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, and  Betty  felt  that  even  Margie  could  expect 
nothing  more  in  height  than  that. 


Marjories    Jf^ay  27 

"P'raps  my  mother  has  forgotten  how  tall  she 
was,"  continued  Betty,  anxious  that  complete  peace 
be  established.  "  She  may  have  grown  tall.  I  have. 
Why,  I've  grown  most  the  whole  of  me  since  I  was 
two  years  old,  and  so  have  you,  Margie,  and  likely  as 
not  your  Aunt  Maria  has  grown  more  than  we  have. 
She's  prob'ly  as  tall  again  as  when  my  mother  saw 
her!" 

Margie  felt  a  little  doubtful  about  this,  but  she  did 
not  dispute  it. 

The  two  little  girls  were  now  very  near  the  edge  of 
the  woods,  and  in  a  moment  they  were  in  the  shade  of 
the  trees  nearest  the  cotton-field.  Under  a  tree  just 
off  the  path  sat  a  boy.  His  face  was  freckled,  and  his 
eyes  were  very  light  blue.  His  thick  hair  was  a  faded 
yellow,  and  he  had  evidently  outgrown  the  worn 
trousers  and  faded  shirt  which  he  wore.  A  straw  hat 
with  a  torn  brim  lay  beside  him,  and  his  feet  were 
bare. 

"  Oh,  there's  Luke.     Hullo,  Luke ! "  called  Betty. 

Margie  looked  toward  the  boy,  a  little  anxious 
pucker  coming  in  her  forehead.  "Oh,  dear,"  she 
sighed,  "  I'm  'fraid  Luke  doesn't  look  the  way  boys 
do  who  grow  up  to  be  artists." 


CHAPTER  III 

LUKE  LOSES   SOMETHING 

LUKE  was  industriously  at  work  upon  some  strips 
of  leather,  evidently  parts  of  a  discarded  boot.  Fas- 
tened securely  to  a  small  sapling  near  at  hand  were 
Spot  and  Stripe.  He  nodded  to  Margie  and  Betty 
as  they  came  nearer,  and  said,  "  I'm  making  collars  for 
the  pups,"  and  the  girls  sat  down  beside  him. 

"  They're  not  very  pretty  collars,  are  they  ?  "  sug- 
gested Betty,  as  Luke  pushed  the  blunt  needle  through 
the  leather,  and  carefully  fastened  the  ends  of  the 
stout  thread. 

"Not  very,"  agreed  Luke,  a  little  despondently; 
"  but  they'll  have  to  do  till  cotton  picking,  then  p'raps 
I  can  earn  money  enough  to  buy  them  new  collars." 

"  Oh,  Luke !  "  said  Margie  reproachfully,  "  you  are 
going  to  school  this  fall." 

"  "Well,  cotton-picking's  all  over  'fore  school  begins, 
ain't  it  ?  "  said  Luke  a  little  defiantly.  He  was  a  year 
older  than  Margie,  but  he  very  seldom  remembered  it. 

"  Did  you  know  Margie  was  going  away  in  two 
weeks  ?  "  asked  Betty.  Luke  nodded ;  he  was  holding 

28 


Marjories    Way  29 

a  bit  of  leather  between  his  teeth  just  then,  and  could 
not  speak. 

"  And,  Luke,"  said  Margie,  "  after  I'm  gone  you  can 
say  your  lessons  to  my  mother.  I  know  she'd  like  to 
have  you,  and  you  can  write  me  letters  same  as  Betty 
does  ;  and  when  fall  comes  you  must  go  to  school." 

Luke  shook  his  head.  "  Not  'less  dad  can  manage 
to  get  me  some  better  clothes,"  he  said  firmly.  "  I 
tried  it  last  fall,  and  the  Watson  boys  were  calling  me 
names  and  plaguing  me  all  the  time,  so  dad  said  to 
quit  goin'.  I  shan't  go  'thout  I  have  shoes,"  and  Luke 
replaced  the  leather  in  his  mouth  and  turned  an  anx- 
ious eye  toward  the  puppies. 

For  a  moment  Margie  did  not  say  anything.  She 
was  thinking  that  Luke  was  not  like  Arthur  Field,  the 
lame  boy  whom  Aunt  Maria  had  taught.  Margie  re- 
membered that  her  mother  said  that  "  Arthur  was  al- 
ways so  glad  when  Aunt  Maria  came  to  see  him,  and 
so  eager  to  learn."  She  thought  Luke  was  not  very 
eager  about  learning. 

"  "What  do  you  s'pose  you'll  learn  when  you  go  to 
school  ?  "  asked  Luke,  as  he  put  the  last  stitch  in  his 
work.  "  I  s'pose  you'll  learn  grammar,  for  one  thing." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Margie. 

"Dad  says  my  mother  knew  grammar.    He  says 


30  Marjories    Way 

if  she'd  lived  she  would  have  had  me  learn  more'n 
I'm  likely  to  now,"  he  continued,  rising  to  his  feet 
and  moving  toward  the  dogs.  The  girls  followed 
him,  and  helped  him  adjust  the  leather  collars  on 
the  puppies'  necks.  In  a  few  minutes  the  puppies 
were  well  leashed,  so  that  Luke  could  easily  lead  them. 
The  boy  looked  at  them  admiringly.  "  I  never  saw 
smarter  pups,"  he  said.  "  I'll  take  right  good  care  of 
them,  Betty." 

"  I  know  you  will,  Luke,"  responded  the  little  girl, 
and  nodding  a  cheerful  good-bye  the  boy  started  on 
his  way  through  the  woods  toward  his  home,  a  small 
house  about  half  a  mile  distant. 

"Oh,  Betty,"  said  Margie,  as  he  disappeared,  "I 
must  manage  to  get  Luke  some  shoes.  His  father 
never  will.  I  never  seem  to  save  pennies  enough ;  I 
don't  see  how  Aunt  Maria  did ;  but  some  way  I  must 
earn  money  or  Luke  will  never  grow  up  like  Arthur 
Field." 

"  He'll  grow  up  better,"  declared  Betty,  who  was 
familiar  with  the  story  of  the  lame  boy,  "  because  both 
of  Luke's  legs  are  straight,  and  Mr.  Field's  legs  were 
all  twisted  when  he  was  a  boy."  But  this  did  not 
seem  to  comfort  Margie. 

Luke's  father  had  a  blacksmith  shop  near  his  cabin, 


Marjories    ff^ay  31 

and  here  Mr.  Sanders  shod  horses,  repaired  wagon- 
wheels  and,  when  not  at  work,  sat  in  the  sunny  doorway 
and  smoked.  Luke  and  his  father  lived  alone.  Luke 
did  most  of  the  work  in  the  house,  and  his  father  de- 
clared that  he  was  "  good  as  a  girl  'bout  housework." 
The  neighbors  often  felt  sorry  for  the  motherless  boy, 
and  many  a  crisp,  brown  loaf  from  Aunt  Cora's  oven, 
or  spicy  cake  from  Mrs.  Savory's  well-ordered  kitchen, 
found  its  way  to  the  little  house. 

Luke  was  very  happy  as  he  led  his  new  puppies 
home.  Notwithstanding  Marjorie's  fears  Luke  really 
was  anxious  to  learn,  and  he  was  glad  that  Mrs.  Phil- 
ips was  to  be  his  teacher.  And  he  now  owned  the 
handsome  setter  pups,  that  were  trotting  along  with 
occasional  pulls  on  their  leash  to  remind  their  new 
master  that  they  were  not  to  be  wholly  overlooked. 
But  Luke's  chief  cause  for  happiness  was  a  promise  his 
father  had  given  him  that  morning. 

It  would  be  a  moonless  night,  and  Mr.  Sanders  had 
told  Luke  that  he  would  take  him  on  a  coon  hunt. 
Old  "  Pointer,"  one  of  Luke's  dogs,  was  a  famous  coon 
dog,  and  Luke  could  hardly  wait  for  night  to  come. 
If  they  treed  a  coon  perhaps  Luke  could  climb  the  tree 
and  shake  the  coon  off  some  branch  where  the  animal 
was  sure  to  perch.  Luke  remembered  one  dark  night 


32  Marjories 


of  the  previous  spring  when  this  had  happened,  and 
when  the  coon  had  snarled  at  him  fiercely  as  he  tried 
to  poke  it  off  the  swaying  branch.  Luke  liked  to  re- 
member that  he  had  not  been  frightened  by  the  snarls, 
but  had  persevered  until  the  coon  had  let  go  its  hold 
and  dropped  to  the  ground  below,  where  Mr.  Sanders 
was  ready  for  it.  Luke  thought  about  the  savory 
stew  which  his  father  had  made  next  day. 

As  he  hurried  the  puppies  along  toward  their  new 
home  he  decided  that  he  would  keep  them  in  the  shed, 
close  to  the  kitchen,  until  they  had  become  well  ac- 
quainted with  "Pointer"  and  "Jones."  The  older 
dogs,  he  decided,  could  sleep  in  a  box-like  kennel  that 
he  had  made  back  of  the  house. 

As  he  came  out  of  the  woods  into  the  turnpike  a 
man  driving  a  pair  of  thin,  tired-looking  horses 
stopped  his  team  and  called  out,  "  Hi,  boy  !  "  and 
Luke  walked  toward  the  wagon.  The  man's  face  was 
covered  with  a  dark  beard,  and  his  hooked  nose  and 
black,  beady  eyes  did  not  make  a  very  pleasant  im- 
pression on  the  boy.  He  wore  a  close,  dark  cap,  and 
in  the  back  of  the  wagon  was  a  large  pack,  such  as  is 
sometimes  carried  by  pedlars,  covered  with  a  black 
enameled  cloth. 

"  Got  some  puppies,  have  you  ?  "  he  said,  as  Luke 


Marjories    Way  33 

came  near,  pointing  his  whip  at  Spot  and  Stripe; 
"pretty  little  fellows,  too."  The  man's  voice  was 
more  pleasant  than  his  appearance,  and  his  praise  of 
the  dogs  sounded  friendly. 

"  "What's  their  names  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  This  is  '  Spot,'  sir,"  answered  Luke  politely,  "  and 
the  other  is  *  Stripe.'  " 

"  Good  enough,"  said  the  man.  "  Just  hand  *  Spot ' 
up  here  a  minute,  will  you  ?  I  like  dogs." 

Luke  handed  him  the  puppy,  and  the  man  rubbed 
its  head  and  seemed  much  pleased  with  it.  "  Just  lift 
his  brother  up  so  I  can  see  the  two  of  them  together," 
he  said,  putting  Spot  down  in  the  bottom  of  the  wagon 
between  his  feet,  and  twisting  the  dog's  leash  about 
the  whip  socket. 

"  Where  did  you  say  you  got  these  dogs  ? "  he 
asked. 

"  Betty  Savory  gave  them  to  me,"  replied  Luke,  as 
he  lifted  Stripe  into  the  wagon. 

"They  are  nice  puppies,"  said  the  man,  his  little 
black  eyes  twinkling  like  beads,  as  he  leaned  down 
and  patted  Stripe,  and  twisted  his  leash  around  the 
iron  foot-rest  in  front  of  the  wagon-seat. 

"  I'll  buy  these  puppies,  my  boy,  if  you'd  like  to 
sell." 


34  Marjories    Way 

Luke  laughed  a  little  and  shook  his  head  vigorously. 
"  Oh,  I  couldn't  sell  dogs  that  were  given  to  me,"  he 
responded. 

The  man  watched  Luke  sharply.  "  Wait  a  minute, 
young  man,  till  you  see  how  much  I'll  pay  you  for 
them,  and  I  guess  you'll  change  your  mind.  I'll  give 
you  a  dollar !  Yes,  sir,  a  whole  dollar,  and  I'll  take 
the  dogs ! "  He  had  reached  into  a  pocket,  and  now 
held  up  a  round  silver  dollar. 

Luke  shook  his  head  again.  "  No,  sir,  I  don't  want 
to  sell  them." 

The  man's  friendly  look  vanished.  "  You  look  as  if 
you  needed  money,"  he  sneered.  "  You'd  better  take  a 
dollar  when  it  comes  your  way.  Last  call ;  what  d'you 
say?" 

Luke  came  a  step  nearer  the  wagon  intending  to 
take  the  puppies  out,  and  as  he  did  so  the  man  flung 
the  silver  dollar  into  the  road  and  called  out, 

"  There's  your  money  ;  I'll  keep  the  pups."  At  a 
word  the  thin  horses  sprang  forward,  and  before  Luke 
could  grasp  at  the  wagon  the  team  was  out  of  his 
reach,  leaving  a  whirling  cloud  of  dust  behind. 
"  Stop  ! "  screamed  the  boy  frantically,  running  after 
it.  "  Stop !  Stop ! " 


CHAPTER  IY 
ABOUT  LUKE'S  CLOTHES 

THE  driver  of  the  team  was  evidently  familiar  with 
the  road,  and  knew  that  there  was  no  house  for  nearly 
a  mile.  The  Sanders'  cabin  he  had  passed  just  before 
meeting  Luke,  and  there  was  little  possibility  of  his 
meeting  any  one  before  he  was  well  out  of  the  boy's 
reach,  and  could  cover  the  puppies  up  with  the  blankets 
which  lay  on  the  seat  beside  him.  With  the  dogs  con- 
cealed from  sight  he  could  pass  any  traveler  with  the 
security  that  no  one  would  wonder  how  he  came  by 
the  setter  pups. 

But  Luke  did  not  think  of  all  this.  He  remembered 
the  man's  cruel  face,  and  the  thought  that  Spot  and 
Stripe  were  at  his  mercy  made  his  feet  go  all  the 
faster.  He  must  catch  up  with  that  team.  But  run 
as  fast  as  he  could  the  distance  between  them  steadily 
increased  until  even  the  distant  cloud  of  dust  van- 
ished, and  the  boy,  out  of  breath  and  discouraged, 
sank  down  by  the  roadside  and  sobbed  bitterly.  The 
rosy  twilight  had  faded  into  the  soft  summer  dusk 
when  he  started  for  home.  His  heart  was  very  sore. 
He  felt  that  he  should  never  see  the  puppies  again 

35 


36  Marjories    Way 

and,  worse  than  that,  he  feared  the  man  would  terrify 
and  abuse  the  little  creatures. 

His  father  stood  in  the  doorway  as  Luke  came  into 
Mie  yard. 

"  "Well,  son,"  he  drawled  out,  "  gettin'  late  to  meals ; 
what's  the  trouble  ?  "  for  as  soon  as  the  boy  came  near 
his  father  noticed  the  tear-stained  face.  Luke  sat 
down  on  the  rough  step,  and  told  his  story.  Mr. 
Sanders  listened. 

"  Where's  the  dollar  ?  "  he  questioned  anxiously. 

Luke  turned  a  reproachful  look  toward  his  father. 
"  Do  you  think  I  took  it  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  "Well,  son,"  responded  the  man  slowly,  "  it  looks  to 
me  that's  about  all  you'll  ever  get,  and  as  for  leavin'  a 
good  dollar  layin'  in  the  road,  that  seems  reckless. 
You're  too  tired  to  go  searchin'  for  it,  but  I'll  step 
down  and  see  if  I  can't  find  it.  He  was  a  powerful 
mean  sarpint,  son,  that's  what  he  was,  to  get  your 
purps  that  way,"  he  added  consolingly ;  "  now  you 
step  in  and  wash  up,  and  by  the  time  I  come  back 
with  that  dollar  the  bacon  will  be  done  to  a  turn,  and 
the  corn-cake  is  all  ready  now  ; "  and  Mr.  Sanders 
stepped  briskly  down  the  road  to  look  for  the  silver 
dollar. 

"  Too  bad,"  he  reflected,  as  he  looked  about  in  the 


Marjories    ff^ay  37 

dusty  road.  "  I  reckon  the  two  of  them  would  have 
fetched  five  dollars  in  Columbia ;  but  we've  more  dogs 
now  than  we've  any  use  for ;  it's  hard  on  the  boy, 
though  ;  he's  such  a  tender  heart  for  animals,  just  like 
his  pa,"  and  Mr.  Sanders  sighed.  He  soon  found  the 
dollar  and  hurried  back  to  the  little  house. 

"  It's  your  money,  Luke,"  he  said,  handing  it  to  the 
boy. 

"  I  don't  want  it,"  said  Luke. 

"  "Well,  son,  then  your  pa  will  take  care  of  it  for 
you,"  and  Mr.  Sanders  dropped  the  coin  back  into  his 
pocket.  Luke  had  but  little  appetite  for  the  corn- 
cake  and  bacon,  and  crept  away  to  bed  without  speak- 
ing of  the  coon  hunt.  Mr.  Sanders  seemed  to  have  for- 
gotten it  also,  for  he  sat  on  the  door-step  until  late  in 
the  evening,  wondering  if  there  was  any  way  that  he 
could  discover  who  the  man  was  who  had  taken  Luke's 
puppies.  "  I  hope  the  critter  will  sell  them  to  some 
nice  folks,"  and  with  this  hopeful  thought  Mr.  Sanders 
also  went  to  bed. 

The  two  weeks  between  the  day  that  Spot  and 
Stripe  disappeared  and  the  day  when  Margie  was  to 
start  for  Ashley  went  very  rapidly.  She  and  her 
mother  had  many  long  talks  about  Mrs.  Philips'  own 
school-days,  and  about  all  the  interesting  things  which 


38  Marjories    Way 

Margie  would  see  on  her  journey  to  Massachusetts. 
The  little  girl  was  very  anxious  to  take  Buff  with  her. 

"  I  could  make  a  present  of  him  to  Aunt  Maria,"  she 
suggested.  "  I  could  take  him  as  a  surprise,  and  she 
would  be  real  pleased.  He's  the  loveliest  thing  I  have, 
mother,  and  you  know  you  told  me  that  when  we  give 
away  anything  it  should  be  something  worth  the  giv- 
ing," said  Margie,  noticing  that  her  mother  did  not 
seem  to  agree  with  the  suggestion  that  Buff  should  be 
a  surprise  to  Miss  Wing. 

Finally  it  was  decided  to  write  Aunt  Maria  and  ask 
her  permission  for  Margie  to  bring  Buff,  but  not  as  a 
gift. 

"  It  would  hurt  Betty's  feelings,  my  dear,  if  you 
gave  the  puppy  away." 

"  Oh,  but  I  wouldn't  give  it  to  any  one  but  Aunt 
Maria,  and  Betty  would  like  that ! "  said  Margie  confi- 
dently. 

Betty  was  very  much  surprised  when  Margie  told 
her  that  Buff  was  to  go  to  Ashley. 

"  Oh,  Margie,  will  you  have  to  take  him  in  a  basket?" 
she  asked,  remembering  how  heavy  the  puppy  was  the 
day  she  had  tugged  him  over  to  the  Philips'  planta- 
tion. 

"  No,  in  a  train,"  answered  Margie  cheerfully.     "  It 


Marjories    If^ay  39 

takes  a  train  two  days  and  a  night  to  get  there,  and  I 
am  to  sleep  in  a  nice  little  bunk  on  the  side  of  the 
car,  and  Mrs.  Jones  in  a  long  bunk  right  under  me ; 
and  p'raps  there'll  be  a  little  bunk  somewhere  for 
Buff." 

"  But  he  won't  stay  in  it,  Margie,  you  know  he  won't. 
He  goes  running  and  chasing  everywhere,  and  he'd 
run  right  out  of  the  door  and  p'raps  you'd  never  catch 
him !  " 

"  Oh,  dear,"  said  Margie,  "  I  s'pose  he  would.  But 
I  can  tie  him  to  his  bunk.  I  think  Aunt  Maria  will 
be  real  pleased  that  I  thought  to  bring  him,  don't  you, 
Betty?" 

Betty  looked  a  little  doubtful.  "Folks  don't  all 
like  puppies,"  she  said.  "  If  I  was  to  take  a  puppy  to 
Columbia  I  expect  my  grandma  would  send  me  right 
home !  You  see  puppies  chew  things  so,"  she  added 
apologetically. 

"But  Aunt  Maria  isn't  like  your  grandma,"  re- 
sponded Margie. 

"No,  I  s'pose  grandmas  know  more  than  aunts," 
said  Betty  thoughtfully.  "  Did  you  know  Luke  Sanders' 
father  found  the  dollar?"  she  continued  before  Margie 
could  question  her  first  statement.  "  He  found  it  in 
the  road,  but  Luke  won't  let  him  buy  shoes  with  it." 


40  Marjories 

"  Of  course  he  won't,"  said  Margie.  "  Luke's  going 
to  try  and  find  that  man  some  time  and  get  the  pup- 
pies back  and  give  him  his  old  dollar." 

Betty  shook  her  head  wisely.  "  Luke  can't  ever  find 
him.  And  if  he  should,  the  puppies  would  be  all  grown 
up  into  dogs.  If  Luke  wants  to  go  to  school  I  should 
think  he'd  like  to  spend  the  dollar  for  shoes.  My 
mother  said  she  should  think  Mr.  Sanders  would  be 
'bliged  to  the  man  for  taking  them." 

This  was  a  new  point  of  view  to  Margie,  and  Betty 
continued,  "  And  mother  says  if  Luke  wants  clothes  he 
ought  to  go  to  work  and  earn  clothes.  She  says  boys 
ought  to  be  independent." 

After  Betty  went  home  that  day  Margie  thought 
over  what  her  little  friend  had  said  about  Luke  earn- 
ing clothes.  She  remembered  that  the  lame  boy  had 
not  had  any  father,  only  a  mother  who  had  earned  their 
living  by  going  out  as  a  seamstress.  She  did  not  re- 
member that  Aunt  Maria  had  ever  bought  clothes  for 
Arthur  Field.  She  had  taught  him  to  read,  paid  for 
his  first  drawing  lessons,  and  lent  him  books;  but, 
apparently,  had  not  been  concerned  about  his  cloth- 
ing. 

Margie  sighed  a  little.  It  seemed  very  difficult  to 
imitate  Aunt  Maria.  In  the  first  place  Luke  was  not 


Marjories    ff^ay  41 

lame.  To  be  sure  she  had  taught  him  to  read,  just  as 
Aunt  Maria  had  the  lame  boy,  but  what  ought  she  to 
do  next  ?  In  the  midst  of  her  puzzle  her  mother 
came  out  on  the  porch  with  her  basket  of  sewing. 
Margie  was  not  old  enough  to  notice  that  her  mother 
was  never  idle.  If  she  sat  on  the  porch  her  hands 
were  busy  with  sewing  or  knitting.  In  the  mornings 
she  was  at  work  in  the  garden,  or  helping  Aunt  Cora 
with  the  household  tasks.  It  seemed  to  Margie  that 
her  mother  was  a  perfectly  care-free  person,  only 
doing  just  what  she  liked  to  do  best.  But  to  Mrs. 
Philips'  constant  industry  and  effort  was  due  no 
small  part  of  the  comfort  of  the  old  plantation  house. 
There  were  many  days  when  Mr.  Philips  was  not 
strong  enough  even  to  come  out  on  the  sunny 
porch. 

Mrs.  Philips  noticed  that  Marjorie  was  very 
thoughtful,  and  waited  until  the  little  girl  was  ready 
to  tell  what  was  troubling  her. 

"  Mother,  I  was  thinking  about  Luke  ! "  she  said. 

"Yes,  dear." 

"And  about  his  not  having  clothes  to  wear  to 
school.  Aunt  Maria  never  bought  clothes  for  the 
lame  boy,  did  she  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no !    Your  Aunt  Maria  was  a  young  girl  at 


42  Marjories 

that  time.  She  only  taught  him  what  she  could,  and 
helped  him  that  way." 

"  But  she  paid  for  his  first  drawing  lessons  ! " 

"  That  was  only  a  few  dollars  that  she  had  saved 
penny  by  penny." 

"  I've  only  got  thirty-eight  cents,  and  I  have  been 
saving  ever  so  long,"  said  Margie. 

Mrs.  Philips  made  no  response,  and  after  a  little 
Margie  spoke  again. 

"Luke  can't  go  to  school  unless  he  has  better 
clothes,  and  Betty's  mother  thinks  he  ought  to  earn 
them  himself,  but  I  want  to  help  him." 

Mrs.  Philips  nodded  approvingly.  "  That's  right, 
my  dear,  help  him  all  you  can.  You  can  write  to 
him,  and  it  will  be  good  practice  for  him  in  answering 
your  letters.  Tell  him  about  your  studies  and  what 
you  are  learning  and  that  will  interest  him  and  help 
him." 

"I  was  thinking  about  getting  him  clothes,"  re- 
sponded Margie.  "I  s'pose  if  the  lame  boy  had 
needed  shoes  Aunt  Maria  would  have  got  them  for 
nim,  wouldn't  she  ?  " 

"  If  she  could,"  answered  Mrs.  Philips. 

"  Well,  it  seems  to  me  that  I'd  better  get  shoes  for 
Luke  instead  of  drawing  lessons.  lie  don't  seem  to 


Marjories    ff^ay  43 

care  about  drawing,  and  there's  nobody  to  teach  him 
if  he  did,"  concluded  Margie.  "  I've  just  about  given 
up  his  ever  being  an  artist.  I'll  have  to  think  up 
something  else  for  him  to  be." 


CHAPTEE  V 

A  JOUBNEY   FOE  MAEGIE 

MAEJOEIE  was  to  go  to  Massachusetts  with  Mrs. 
Jones,  a  milliner  in  Columbia,  who  had  promised  to 
take  charge  of  her  until  they  reached  Boston,  where 
Aunt  Maria  would  meet  them.  Aunt  Maria  had 
written  that  Margie  might  bring  Buff.  She  added 
that  she  was  not  much  used  to  dogs,  but  perhaps  Buff 
would  make  Margie  feel  more  at  home.  Margie 
promised  her  mother  that  she  would  watch  the  puppy 
very  carefully,  and  not  let  him  annoy  Aunt  Maria. 

Luke  had  promised  Margie  that  he  would  save  the 
money  he  hoped  to  earn  picking  cotton  to  buy  shoes. 

"  I  should  like  to  tell  my  aunt  about  you,"  Margie 
had  explained  to  him.  "  I  wish  I  could  tell  her  that 
you  were  going  to  be  an  artist,  but  I  guess  you  never 
will  be  that ;  so  I  want  to  tell  her  that  you  are  going 
to  school  and  are  going  to  be  something  else.  What 
do  you  think  you'd  like  to  be,  Luke  ?  " 

This  was  a  new  proposition.  Luke  had  never  been 
consulted  as  to  his  future  before,  and  he  looked  at 
Margie  a  little  blankly. 

44 


Marjories   Way  45 

"I  do'  know,"  he  answered  slowly,  digging  one 
bare  heel  into  the  soft  warm  earth.  "  Artists  ain't  so 
much.  Dad  says  they  have  a  machine  they  call  a 
camera,  and  just  point  it  at  things  they  want  to  take 
pictures  of  and  then  pull  a  spring,  or  something  like 
that,  and  there  the  picture  is,  all  took.  I  guess  you 
don't  have  to  know  much  to  do  that,"  Luke  concluded 
scornfully. 

"  Oh,  Luke,  that  is  just  taking  pictures,  it  isn't 
being  an  artist.  An  artist  draws  things  with  a  pencil, 
and  then  when  he  knows  enough  he  paints  them. 
But  I  guess  you'll  have  to  do  something  else." 

"I  s'pose  I  could  keep  store,"  suggested  Luke 
hopefully. 

But  Margie  shook  her  head.  "No,  anybody  can 
do  that.  We'll  have  to  think  up  something  for  you  to 
be.  I'll  tell  you,"  she  said ;  "  I  will  ask  my  Aunt 
Maria  what  you  had  better  be,  and  then  I'll  write  you 
what  she  says  and  you  can  begin  right  off." 

Luke  did  not  look  greatly  pleased  at  the  prospect, 
but  he  made  no  objections. 

"  I've  got  a  present  for  you,  Margie,"  he  said. 
"  'Tain't  very  much.  I  wanted  to  give  you  something, 
and  I  made  you  this.  Guess  'twill  remind  you  of 
something." 


46  Marjories 

The  boy  had  drawn  a  small  object  from  his  pocket 
and  was  regarding  it  closely. 

"  Oh,  Luke,  what  is  it  ?  "  said  Margie  eagerly,  and 
Luke  handed  her  his  gift.  It  was  a  small  wooden 
dog  which  the  boy  had  carved  with  his  knife  from  a 
block  of  white  pine.  As  Margie  took  it  she  ex- 
claimed, "  "Why,  it  looks  just  like  '  Uncle ' ! " 

A  smile  brightened  the  boy's  face.  "I  tried  to 
make  it  like  '  Uncle,' "  he  said.  "  I  thought  taking 
Buff  you  might  forget  old  '  Uncle.'  " 

"  It's  lovely,  Luke.  I  shall  always  keep  it,"  said 
Margie.  "  Thank  you." 

Luke  looked  very  happy  at  Margie's  praise  of  his 
gift. 

"  You  write  me  what  your  aunt  thinks  I'd  better 
be,"  he  said,  and  Margie  nodded  cheerfully. 

"  I've  about  decided  since  you  made  this  dog,"  she 
said,  "  that  you'd  better  be  a  carpenter.  Carpenters 
make  houses  and  things  out  of  wood,  and  p'raps  that's 
the  best  thing  to  be." 

"  All  right,"  agreed  Luke.  "  I  s'pose  I'll  have  to 
go  to  school  just  the  same  ?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  replied  Margie  soberly. 

At  length  the  day  came  for  Marjorie  to  start  on  her 
journey.  The  black  leather  trunk,  with  mamma's 


Marjories    Jf^ay  47 

initials  in  brass  nails  on  the  top,  all  packed  with 
Marjorie's  clothing,  was  strapped  on  the  back  of  the 
carryall ;  the  old  mule  was  brushed  and  groomed  and 
harnessed  ready  to  start  for  Columbia,  and  Betty  and 
Luke  had  come  to  say  good-bye. 

Betty  and  Margie  evidently  regarded  the  journey 
as  a  delightful  affair,  and  Mr.  Philips  and  his  wife 
seemed  unusually  cheerful.  Luke  was  rather  dull  and 
quiet,  and  rubbed  Buff's  head  so  vigorously  that  the 
puppy  finally  snapped  his  objections ;  and  then  Luke 
picked  him  up  and  held  him.  Uncle  kept  close  to 
Margie,  as  if  he  realized  that  all  this  commotion  con- 
cerned his  little  mistress ;  while  Aunt  Cora  stood  in 
the  kitchen  door,  her  usual  smile  hid  behind  her 
white  apron,  which  she  held  to  her  eyes. 

When  they  were  all  seated  in  the  carriage,  Luke 
lifted  Buff  up  to  the  seat  beside  Margie.  Mr.  Philips 
started  up  the  mule,  and  Margie  called  back,  "  Good- 
bye," and  then  again,  "  Good-bye,  Uncle,"  for  the  old 
dog  was  following  the  team  down  the  driveway.  He 
stopped  just  as  Mr.  Philips  turned  into  the  main  road, 
and,  with  his  head  on  one  side,  watched  the  carriage 
out  of  sight.  He  could  hear  Buff's  barks  and  yelps 
for  several  minutes.  Then  Uncle  walked  slowly  back 
to  the  house,  and  lay  down  in  the  shade  of  the  big 


48  Marjories 

rose  tree  at  the  corner.  It  seemed  very  quiet  and 
peaceful  to  him.  That  barking  puppy  was  evidently 
out  of  the  way  for  a  time,  and  Uncle  resolved  to  have 
a  good  rest  before  he  got  back. 

"  You  won't  have  to  do  lessons  now  Margie's  gone, 
will  you,  Luke  ?  "  said  Betty,  skipping  along  to  keep 
up  with  the  boy's  long  steps. 

"  Mrs.  Philips  is  going  to  teach  me  now,"  said  Luke, 
a  little  proudly,  for  he  felt  that  it  was  a  great  ad- 
vance to  have  Mrs.  Philips  for  a  teacher  instead  of 
Margie. 

"  What  for  ?  "  inquired  Betty. 

"  What  for !  "  echoed  Luke  scornfully.  "  So  I  will 
know  something,  and  be  like  other  folks.  You  have 
lessons,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  I  don't  want  to  have  lessons,"  responded 
Betty;  "and  as  for  you  being  like  other  folks,  I'm 
sure  you  are  much  nicer  than  any  boy  I  know." 

"  Umph,"  said  Luke ;  "  you  don't  know  any  other 
boy.  There  isn't  any  other  boy  lives  anywhere  near 
here." 

"  I  do  know  another  boy !  I  know  two  boys. 
Twin  boys  they  are.  And  their  names  are  Lee 
Ponsonby  Clay  and  George  Lafayette  Clay,  and 
they  live  in  the  next  house  to  my  grandma's  in 


Marjories    Way  49 

Columbia,  and  they  are  real  South  Carolinians. 
Why,  they  could  write  years  ago.  I  guess  they 
could  always  write,"  she  concluded. 

Luke  made  no  response.  Some  way  he  did  not  feel 
interested  in  twin  boys,  especially  boys  who  could 
always  write. 

After  a  moment's  silence  Betty  continued,  "And 
they  have  got  a  great,  big  dog;  'most  all  white, 
their  dog  is.  His  name  is  *  Hero,'  and  he's  a  Sam 
Barnard ! " 

"  What's  a  '  Sam  Barnard  '  ?  "  inquired  Luke. 

"  Oh,  it's  the  kind  of  a  dog  the  Clay  boys  have," 
replied  Betty,  with  a  little  flirt  of  her  yellow  braid. 
"  Grandma  says  that  'way  off  in  the  Alps  Sam  Barnard 
dogs  go  out  and  rescue  travelers,  and  bring  them  in 
out  of  the  snow." 

But  Luke  was  not  much  interested.  He  was 
wondering  if  Margie's  aunt  would  decide  for  him 
to  be  a  carpenter. 

"  It  will  be  a  long  time  before  Margie  comes  home, 
won't  it  ?  "  he  said  soberly. 

"  Two  years,"  replied  Betty ;  "  and  when  she  comes 
back,  everybody  is  going  to  call  her  *  Miss  Marjorie,' 
and  she  is  going  to  be  just  like  her  Aunt  Maria." 


CHAPTER  VI 
AUNT  MAEIA'S  HOUSE 

MBS.  JONES  seemed  surprised  when  she  saw  Buff, 
and  Margie  was  very  much  surprised  when  she  was 
told  that  the  puppy  could  not  go  in  the  same  car  with 
them,  but  must  ride  in  the  baggage-car. 

"But  Buff  will  be  lonesome,"  she  said,  when  the 
stout  baggage-man  lifted  her  up  so  she  could  see 
where  Buff  was  to  ride. 

"Oh,  I'll  look  after  him,"  said  the  baggage-man. 
"  I  like  dogs,  and  this  one  is  a  nice  little  fellow.  I 
saw  two  a  good  deal  like  him  this  morning,  only  they 
were  spotted.  Two  boys  had  them  down  by  the 
State  House.  Don't  you  worry  about  this  puppy," 
he  added  ;  "  I'll  take  good  care  of  him." 

"Thank  you  very  much,"  said  Margie  gratefully, 
smiling  at  the  big  man ;  and  she  and  Mrs.  Jones  went 
to  their  own  car. 

"When  the  train  left  the  station  at  Columbia  Margie 
waved  her  hand  to  her  father  and  mother  as  long  as 
she  could  see  them.  They  were  smiling  and  waving 

5° 


Marjories    ff^ay 


too,  but  Margie  had  a  choked  feeling  in  her  throat, 
and  began  to  feel,  as  the  train  moved  out  of  the 
station,  that  a  terrible  thing  had  happened.  Here 
she  was  going  away  from  everything  she  knew.  She 
wished  that  Mrs.  Jones  was  not  there  so  she  could  put 
her  head  down  on  the  seat  and  cry.  One  or  two  tears 
did  creep  down  her  cheeks,  but  she  wiped  them  quickly 
away.  When  she  looked  up  Mrs.  Jones  was  smiling 
at  her,  and  Margie  smiled  back.  Then  she  tried  to 
think  about  Aunt  Maria,  and  resolved  to  be  so  much 
like  her  that  even  her  dear  mother  would  be  surprised. 
She  had  just  decided  upon  this  when  Mrs.  Jones  put  a 
little  package  on  her  lap. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  Margie. 

"  Open  it  and  see,"  said  Mrs.  Jones,  with  another 
smile  and  a  nod  of  her  head  that  made  Margie  look  at 
her  more  closely  and  wish  that  she  would  smile  again  ; 
for  when  Mrs.  Jones  laughed  you  could  hardly  see  her 
eyes,  and  little  dimples  came  in  her  cheeks  and  about 
her  mouth. 

"  Open  it  and  see,"  repeated  Mrs.  Jones,  thinking 
the  little  girl  had  not  understood  her. 

Margie  untied  the  silver  string  and  took  off  the 
white  wrapping  paper,  and  found  a  lovely  little  box 
all  covered  with  roses.  She  then  removed  the  cover, 


52  Marjories 


and  there  was  a  brimming  box  of  the  most  delicious 
candy  she  had  ever  seen. 

"  Oh,"  said  the  little  girl  rapturously. 

"  I  thought  little  girls  liked  candy,"  said  Mrs.  Jones  ; 
"  and  I  don't  mind  eating  a  piece  now  and  then  my- 
self ;  "  and  she  picked  out  a  chocolate  cream  and  put 
it  between  her  white  teeth. 

While  they  were  enjoying  the  candy,  Margie  told 
her  companion  about  Betty,  and  then  she  opened  her 
little  leather  traveling-bag  and  took  out  the  wooden 
dog  Luke  had  made,  and  told  her  about  Uncle. 

"  I  guess  Luke  will  be  a  carpenter  when  he  grows 
up,"  she  said,  looking  at  the  wooden  dog  admiringly  ; 
and  she  felt  very  much  encouraged  when  Mrs.  Jones 
told  her  that  carpenters  were  very  useful  men,  and 
that  it  was  an  excellent  trade. 

Mrs.  Jones  seemed  to  find  so  many  interesting 
things  to  talk  about  and  to  laugh  about,  and  Margie 
was  so  interested  in  watching  her  eyes  and  her  dim- 
ples, that  she  almost  forgot  the  little  note-book  and 
pencil  that  her  father  had  given  her,  and  which  she 
had  expected  to  fill  with  notes  about  her  journey,  and 
then  write  it  all  home  to  her  mother  and  Betty.  She 
slept  soundly  all  night,  and  the  train  went  so  smoothly 
and  so  swiftly  that  she  told  Mrs.  Jones  she  couldn't 


Marjories    Way  53 

remember  any  of  the  scenery.  The  journey  was  soon 
over,  and  when  they  left  the  train  in  Boston  a  lady 
hurried  up  to  them  and  said,  "  I  know  this  is  my  dear 
Marjorie,"  and  the  little  girl  looked  up  to  the  dark, 
smiling  eyes  so  like  her  own  dear  mother's. 

But  she  was  sorry  to  say  good-bye  to  Mrs.  Jones. 

"  When  I  go  home  I  will  go  on  the  train  with  you, 
won't  I  ?  "  she  said. 

"  I'm  sure  I  hope  so,"  replied  Mrs.  Jones,  and  Mar- 
gie was  always  glad  to  remember  that  Mrs.  Jones  told 
Aunt  Maria  she  would  not  wish  for  a  more  pleasant 
traveling  companion  than  Margie. 

Poor  Buff  whined  piteously  when  he  was  at  last  set 
down  on  the  platform  at  Margie's  feet.  The  journey 
had  seemed  a  very  long  and  lonesome  time  to  him. 
Margie  smoothed  his  silky  head  and  told  him  who 
Aunt  Maria  was.  She  wondered  why  the  bright  smile 
seemed  to  fade  out  of  Aunt  Maria's  face  when  she 
looked  at  Buff. 

There  was  another  short  ride  in  a  train,  and  then 
Aunt  Maria  and  Margie  and  Buff  got  out  at  the  little 
station  of  Ashley.  Margie  thought  it  was  the  prettiest 
place  she  had  ever  seen.  The  little  wooden  depot  had 
flower-beds  each  side  of  it ;  and  as  they  walked  up  the 
road  she  noticed  that  almost  every  house  was  painted 


54  Marjories    Way 

white,  with  green  blinds,  and  that  there  were  flowers 
in  the  gardens. 

Miss  Wing's  house  was  one  of  those  that  was  painted 
white.  It  was  a  square  house  with  a  door  in  the  mid- 
dle. A  picket  fence  shut  off  the  garden  from  the 
street,  and  Miss  Wing  opened  the  gate  for  Marjorie 
and  Buff  to  go  through.  Then  they  walked  up  the 
path,  paved  with  red  brick,  to  the  front  door.  When 
Aunt  Maria  opened  the  door  she  kissed  Margie 
again. 

"This  was  your  grandmother's  and  grandfather's 
home ;  it  was  your  dear  mother's  home,  and  now  you 
must  feel  it  is  yours."  Just  then  a  howl  from  Buff 
made  them  both  turn  quickly  round.  Close  to  Mar- 
gie's feet  was  the  puppy,  curled  up  in  a  round  bunch, 
while  a  few  feet  away  stood  a  large  Maltese  cat,  its 
tail  waving  in  the  air,  its  fur  standing  up,  and  evi- 
dently ready  to  spring  upon  the  frightened  puppy. 

"  Oh,  dear  me !  "  exclaimed  Miss  Wing.  "  I  am 
afraid  that  Sarah  Mullins  isn't  going  to  like  the  dog." 

Margie  had  gathered  Buff  up  in  her  arms,  and  Miss 
Wing  "  shoo-ed  "  the  cat  off  the  piazza. 

"  Is  your  cat's  name  '  Sarah  Mullins '  ? "  asked 
Margie. 

"  Yes,"  responded  Aunt  Maria.     "  You  see  old  Mrs. 


Marjories    Jf^ay  55 

Mullins  gave  me  the  kitten,  and  so  I  named  it  after 
her.  I'm  afraid  Sarah  and  the  dog  will  fight." 

"  Luke  Sanders  'most  always  names  dogs  after  people 
who  give  them  to  him,"  said  Margie.  "  I  hope  Sarah 
Mullins  won't  hurt  Buff,"  she  added. 

Miss  Wing  sighed.  "  Well,  we  will  have  to  watch 
till  she  gets  used  to  him.  What  do  you  give  him  to 
eat?" 

"  Oh,  he  likes  milk  pretty  well,  and  sometimes  we 
give  him  chicken-bones.  He's  a  real  good  puppy." 

Miss  Wing  smiled  at  Marjorie's  wistful  face,  and 
leaned  down  and  patted  Buff's  yellow  head. 

"  I  am  sure  he  is,"  she  said ;  "  and  when  Sarah  and 
I  get  used  to  him  we  shall  be  a  very  happy  family. 
Now  we  will  go  up-stairs  and  see  your  room.  Yes, 
Buff  may  go  up-stairs  this  time." 

Margie  looked  at  her  aunt  and,  remembering  that 
Betty  had  said  that  she  shouldn't  wonder  if  Aunt 
Maria  was  tall  as  Mr.  Sanders,  smiled  a  little.  For, 
even  to  Margie's  loving  eyes  Aunt  Maria  was  short. 
She  was,  as  Betty  had  declared,  "  stubby." 

Margie  thought  the  little  room  over  the  front  door 
was  the  whitest  room  she  had  ever  seen.  With  its 
frilled  muslin  curtains,  its  white  bed  and  a  faded 
carpet  of  dull  blue  and  white  it  seemed  very  cool  and 


56  Marjories   Way 

restful  to ,  the  tired  little  girl.  Buff  evidently  ap. 
proved  of  the  bed,  for  he  made  a  scrambling  jump  up 
the  side,  and  was  greatly  surprised  when  Aunt  Maria 
seized  him  and  set  him  down  on  the  floor. 

"  There !  his  feet  have  left  marks  on  your  nice  white 
bed,"  said  Aunt  Maria,  giving  the  puppy  a  gentle 
shove  with  her  foot. 

Margie  looked  at  him  reprovingly.  "  Do  you  think 
I  ought  to  slap  him,  Aunt  Maria  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  believe  I  would,"  responded  her  aunt. 

Margie  sighed  a  little.  "  I  think  you  had  better  do 
it,"  she  said.  "  I'm  afraid  he  wouldn't  know  what  I 
meant." 

Buff  had  snuggled  close  beside  Aunt  Maria,  and  was 
evidently  intent  on  making  friends.  She  leaned  down 
and  patted  him. 

"  I'll  slap  him  next  time,"  she  said,  with  a  little 
laugh ;  "  you  see,  my  dear,  he  has  come  so  far  to  see 
me  that  I  don't  feel  as  if  it  would  be  really  polite  to 
slap  him  to-day,"  and  she  laughed  again. 

Margie  looked  at  her  admiringly.  Somehow  she 
did  not  seem  to  care  if  Aunt  Maria  was  short.  She 
wished  Betty  could  see  her  smile. 

In  a  short  time  the  little  black  trunk,  with  the  initials 
on  the  top  in  brass-headed  tacks,  was  brought  into  the 


Marjories   W^ay  57 

room,  and  Aunt  Maria  unpacked  it  while  Margie  sat 
in  the  little  white  rocking-chair  by  the  window  and 
rested.  A  woodbine  grew  up  the  piazza  posts,  and 
crept  up  about  the  window,  and  Aunt  Maria  told 
Margie  that  some  humming-birds  made  their  nest 
among  those  vines  every  year,  and  if  she  watched 
closely  she  would  see  them  going  back  and  forth  from 
the  nest. 

When  Miss  "Wing  began  to  take  the  things  out  of 
Marjorie's  little  hand-bag  she  came  across  the  little 
wooden  dog. 

"  There,"  she  said,  holding  it  toward  Margie.  "  Now 
that  is  a  nice  quiet  dog." 

"  That's  Uncle,"  said  Marjorie. 

Miss  Wing  looked  at  it  more  closely  as  she  set  it 
down  on  the  white  bureau. 

"  So  it  is,"  she  said.  "  Uncle  was  about  Buff's  age 
when  I  saw  him,  but  this  little  image  looks  like  him. 
Who  made  it  ?  " 

"Luke  Sanders,  the  boy  I  taught  to  write,"  said 
Margie  proudly.  She  wondered  to  herself  if  Aunt 
Maria  would  not  at  once  think  how  much  her  little 
niece  was  like  her.  "  He's  going  to  be  a  carpenter," 
Margie  continued,  "  that  is,  if  you  think  that  is  a  good 
thing  for  a  boy  to  be." 


58  Marjories    ff^ay 

Miss  Wing  looked  a  little  puzzled,  but  she  responded 
quickly.  "  Why  I  should  think  it  would  be  a  very 
nice  trade  for  him,  but,"  and  Aunt  Maria  looked 
at  the  wooden  dog  again  admiringly,  "  I  should  think 
he  would  want  to  be  an  artist." 

Margie  shook  her  head.  "  I  s'posed  you  would  feel 
that  way,"  she  said;  "but  Luke  can't  be  an  artist. 
I've  talked  to  him  about  it,  but  he  can't  draw,  but  he 
can  make  things  in  wood ;  so  I  think  he  can  be  a  car- 
penter. I  said  I'd  ask  you." 

Aunt  Maria  laughed  a  little  and  gave  the  wooden 
dog  a  pat.  "Well,  then  he  shall  be  just  what  he 
wants  to  be  most,  carpenter  or  artist,"  she  said. 
"  Now  we  must  go  down-stairs  and  get  our  supper,  and 
give  Buff  some  milk." 

Margie  thought  it  was  just  like  playing  keep  house 
to  be  in  Aunt  Maria's  kitchen.  The  stove  was  so  shin- 
ing black,  the  floor  such  a  beautiful  yellow,  and  the 
braided  rugs  so  bright  and  round.  On  the  mantel- 
shelf was  a  clock  shaped  like  a  church,  and  the  glass 
door  of  the  clock  had  a  bunch  of  red  strawberries 
painted  on  it.  The  dining-room  was  separated  from 
the  kitchen  by  a  little  passageway.  Aunt  Maria 
showed  Margie  how  to  set  the  table,  and  put  on  the 
mulberry  china  which  had  belonged  to  Margie's 


Marjories   tf^ay  59 

grandmother.  The  little  girl  told  her  aunt  about 
Betty  and  Grandmother  Savory's  china.  "  And  now 
I  can  write  her  about  my  grandmother's  china,"  said 
Margie. 

"  Oh,  but  there  is  nothing  historical  or  remarkable 
about  this,"  said  Aunt  Maria.  "  Almost  every  house 
in  the  village  has  a  set  just  like  it."  But  Margie  re- 
solved to  tell  Betty  about  it  just  the  same. 

She  went  to  bed  very  early  that  night,  and  the  little 
wooden  dog  on  her  bureau  seemed  to  look  at  her  as  if 
to  say,  "  Good-night,  Miss  Marjorie." 


CHAPTER  VII 

SAKAH  MULLINS'  MANNERS 

WHEN  Marjorie  woke  up  the  next  morning  Aunt 
Maria  was  standing  beside  the  bed  with  a  very  sober 
face. 

"  I  am  afraid  Buff  is  lost,"  she  said,  as  she  helped 
Margie  braid  her  hair.  "  I  let  him  out  this  morning 
when  I  started  the  fire,  and  he  scampered  off  as  fast 
as  he  could  go  down  the  street.  I  have  sent  the  little 
Webb  boy  to  look  for  him,  and  perhaps  he  will  find 
and  bring  him  back  before  we  are  through  breakfast." 

Aunt  Maria  was  glad  that  Margie  did  not  cry.  She 
had  been  almost  afraid  to  tell  her  about  Buff,  but 
Margie  had  made  so  many  good  resolutions  that  she 
did  not  even  think  of  crying.  Indeed,  she  almost  felt 
to  blame  for  Buff's  truancy,  for  she  could  see  that 
Miss  Wing  was  very  much  concerned. 

"  Oh,  I  will  go  after  him,  Aunt  Maria.  If  I  go  out 
in  the  street  and  call '  Buff,'  *  Buff,'  perhaps  he  will 
hear  me  and  come." 

Miss  Wing  thought  that  this  was  an  excellent  plan, 

and  they  both  went  out  and  walked  down  the  street 

60 


Marjories    W^ay  61 

a  little  way  ;  Margie  called  "  Buff,"  "  Buff,"  but  they 
did  not  see  anything  either  of  the  Webb  boy  or  of  the 
puppy.  Miss  Wing  met  one  or  two  neighbors,  to 
whom  she  described  the  puppy,  and  at  last  they  gave 
up  the  search  and  went  home. 

Aunt  Maria  did  not  seem  to  feel  as  badly  as  Margie 
had  expected. 

"  Perhaps  Buff  is  lost,"  she  said ;  "  and  I  expect 
Sarah  Mullins  would  be  pleased  not  to  see  him  again." 

"  But  you  wouldn't  want  poor  Buff  lost,  would  you, 
Aunt  Maria  ? "  said  Margie  plaintively.  "  Why,  he 
would  wander  about,  and  get  hungry  and  lonesome, 
and " 

Margie  felt  the  tears  very  near,  but  Aunt  Maria  had 
taken  close  hold  of  the  little  girl's  hand. 

"  Lost ! "  she  "said.  "  Why,  I  wouldn't  lose  Buff  for 
anything.  You  may  be  sure  he  won't  go  hungry  or 
get  lonesome  in  Ashley.  Why,  Margie,  I  don't  be- 
lieve there  are  a  dozen  dogs  in  the  village !  Think  of 
that.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  everybody  made  friends 
with  such  a  nice  puppy ;  and  probably  all  the  boys 
will  want  to  buy  him." 

Margie  smiled  a  little  at  this.  "I  wouldn't  sell 
Mm,"  she  said. 

"Sarah  Mullins"  was  washing  her  face  and  occu- 


62  Marjorie 


pied  the  centre  of  the  front  door-step,  so  Miss  Wing 
stepped  carefully  to  one  side  not  to  disturb  her,  and 
Margie  did  the  same. 

"  I'm  afraid  if  Buff  came  back  he  would  be  afraid 
of  Sarah,  and  go  away  again,"  said  Margie,  looking  at 
the  Maltese  cat,  which  did  not  condescend  to  notice 
them.  She  thought  if  it  had  been  Uncle  or  Buff  how 
they  would  have  jumped  about  and  said  in  welcoming 
barks  how  glad  they  were  to  have  them  come  home. 
Margie  decided  that  she  did  not  like  cats. 

The  Webb  boy  proved  a  trusty  messenger,  for  in  a 
little  while  he  came  into  the  yard  bringing  Buff  with 
him.  Sarah  Mullins  was  still  on  the  step,  but  this 
time  she  did  not  seem  to  mind  Buff  at  all.  She 
looked  at  him  with  a  polite  curiosity,  but  did  not  arch 
her  back  or  act  at  all  displeased. 

The  puppy  eyed  her  doubtfully  for  a  moment,  won- 
dering if  this  was  a  new  kind  of  a  dog  ;  then,  waggling 
his  whole  body  he  approached  nearer  and  finally 
settled  down  beside  her.  Sarah  went  on  with  her 
toilet  without  noticing  him.  The  Webb  boy  watched 
Buff's  proceedings  with  vague  disappointment  as  he 
rang  the  bell.  "  That  pup  won't  ever  be  a  fighter," 
he  soliloquized. 

When  Miss  Wing  and  Margie  came  to  the  door  and 


Marjories    tf^ay  63 

saw  their  two  pets  in  such  a  friendly  proximity  they 
were  greatly  surprised. 

"  Well,"  said  Miss  "Wing,  "  this  is  a  change." 

"  That's  just  like  Buff,"  said  Margie.  "  He  made 
friends  with  Uncle,  although  Uncle  never  liked  him, 
and  now  he  has  made  friends  with  Sarah,  and  he  will 
stick  right  to  her  and  follow  her  everywhere." 

"  Dear  me !  he  seems  so  clumsy  that  I  am  afraid  he 
will  get  hurt  if  he  follows  Sarah,"  said  Miss  Wing,  re- 
membering Sarah's  fondness  for  climbing  tall  trees 
and  venturing  out  on  window-ledges.  Buff  had 
settled  himself  comfortably  beside  the  cat,  and  now 
ventured  to  rub  his  head  against  her  shoulder. 

Sst !  Whish  !  Quicker  than  a  flash,  Sarah  had  given 
him  a  slap  with  her  paw  which  sent  the  puppy  howl- 
ing to  the  far  end  of  the  piazza,  where  Margie  ran 
after  and  tried  to  comfort  him. 

"  Don't  you  think  they'd  better  fight  it  out  now  ?  " 
suggested  the  Webb  boy  hopefully.  "  I've  heard  folks 
say  that  after  one  good,  square  fight  a  dog  and  cat 
were  more  apt  to  be  good  friends." 

"Buff  can't  fight,"  said  Margie.  Sarah  Mullins 
soon  strolled  down  toward  the  fence,  and  Buff  was 
taken  into  the  shed,  where  he  found  a  nice  basin  of 
milk  and  a  plate  of  bones  on  the  floor,  and  soon  for- 


64  Marjories    Way 

got  his  troubles,  and  when  a  few  moments  later  Sarah 
appeared  from  behind  the  wood-pile  he  did  not  re- 
member to  be  afraid  of  her.  But  basins  of  milk 
seemed  to  Sarah  Mullins  to  be  her  own  special  prop- 
erty, and  she  had  no  intention  of  allowing  this  yellow 
puppy  to  defraud  her  of  her  rights ;  so  she  very 
promptly  pounced  upon  him.  Buff  wheeled  round  with 
a  yelp  of  terror,  and  managed  to  plant  his  front  feet 
square  in  the  basin,  splashing  the  milk  in  every  direc- 
tion. His  terrified  howls  brought  Margie  flying  into 
the  shed,  and  she  unfortunately  left  the  kitchen  door 
open  behind  her.  In  an  instant  Buff  had  rushed  into 
the  kitchen,  leaving  prints  of  his  wet  feet  all  over  the 
shining  yellow  floor.  Sarah  had  turned  her  atten- 
tion to  the  milk,  so  Buff  was  soon  comforted,  his  feet 
wiped,  and  he  stayed  close  to  his  little  mistress  until 
Sarah  was  shut  down  in  the  cellar  for  the  night. 

After  this  Margie  watched  the  puppy  more  closely. 
She  had  made  friends  with  the  "Webb  boy,  whose  name 
was  Ferdinand  Augustus,  and  had  told  him  about 
Luke,  and  showed  him  the  little  wooden  dog,  which 
Ferdinand  had  promptly  offered  to  buy. 

"  I'll  give  you  a  quarter  for  it,"  he  said. 

"  "Why,  you  can't  sell  gifts,"  said  Margie ;  but  Fer- 
dinand's prompt  admiration  of  Luke's  handiwork  gave 


Marjories    Way  65 

the  little  girl  a  new  idea.  If  Luke  was  really  going  to 
be  a  carpenter,  she  thought,  he  might  as  well  begin  to 
practice  at  once. 

"  I'll  get  Luke  to  make  you  a  wooden  dog,  if  you 
want  one,"  she  said  to  her  new  friend,  and  Ferdinand 
agreed  with  surprising  promptness. 

"  I  tell  you  what,"  he  said  eagerly ;  "  you  write  him 
to  make  me  two  dogs,  one  like  Buff  and  one  like  that 
coon  dog  of  his,  and  I'll  pay  fifty  cents  for  the  two." 

"  Oh,  will  you !  "  responded  Margie.  "  I'll  write  him 
to-day.  The  money  will  be  a  great  help,"  she  added, 
seriously. 

She  reflected,  that,  in  a  way,  this  was  the  same  way 
Aunt  Maria  had  helped  the  lame  boy ;  for  the  lame 
boy  had  painted  little  pictures  which  Aunt  Maria  had 
found  purchasers  for,  and  the  money  had  been  used  for 
drawing  lessons.  It  was  hard  that  Luke  could  not  be 
an  artist,  she  thought,  but  perhaps  after  he  had  been 
to  school  and  grew  older  he  might  develop  a  talent 
for  drawing.  She  looked  at  Ferdinand's  neat  clothes 
almost  enviously,  wishing  Luke  had  some  one  to  buy 
clothes  for  him. 

Marjorie  watched  her  aunt  very  closely,  and  often 
when  alone  practiced  her  aunt's  manner  of  walking, 
of  sitting  down  and,  standing  before  her  little  mirror 


66  Marjories    IF  ay 

would  endeavor  to  smile  like  Aunt  Maria.  She  watched 
her  at  the  table  and  endeavored  to  hold  her  fork  ex- 
actly as  Aunt  Maria  did.  There  was  one  difficult 
problem.  They  did  not  like  the  same  things  to  eat. 
Aunt  Maria  liked  her  toast  very  brown  and  crispy,  and 
Margie  did  not  like  toast  at  all.  Aunt  Maria  ate  her 
oatmeal  without  sugar,  and  to  Margie  oatmeal  without 
sugar  seemed  impossible.  Then  Margie  liked  pickles, 
while  Aunt  Maria  declared  that  the  sight  of  them 
made  her  mouth  pucker. 

But  Margie  was  persistent ;  she  thought  of  all  the 
plans  her  mother  had  made  for  her  to  come  to  Ashley 
so  she  could  grow  up  like  Aunt  Maria,  and  she  reso- 
lutely ate  the  crispy  toast,  refused  the  most  tempting 
pickles,  and  shook  her  head  when  her  aunt  asked  her 
if  she  did  not  want  sugar  on  her  oatmeal. 

She  learned  to  set  the  table  exactly  as  Miss  Wing 
did,  and  her  aunt  often  thought  that  there  was  never 
such  a  thoughtful,  helpful  girl  as  her  little  niece. 

"  You  must  be  a  great  help  to  your  mother,"  she 
said  one  day  when  Margie  had  carefully  washed  the 
dishes  and  was  putting  them  away. 

"  But  I  never  do  these  things  at  home,"  said  Margie. 
"  Aunt  Cora  does  all  the  work." 

"But  your  dear  mother  has  so  much  to  do,"  re- 


Marjories   ff^ay  67 


sponded  Miss  "Wing.  "  She  does  all  the  sewing,  and 
knits  and  works  in  the  garden.  I  often  think  what  a 
hard  time  she  has  had." 

"  What,  mamma  ?  "  said  Margie  in  surprise.  "  Why, 
mamma  only  does  just  what  she  wants  to." 

"  My  dear  child,  your  mother  works  harder  than 
Aunt  Cora,  and  besides  that  she  has  to  plan  very  care- 
fully to  keep  you  all  comfortable.  I  want  you  to  try 
all  you  can  when  you  are  older  to  make  things  pleas- 
ant for  her." 

"  Oh,  but  I  am  trying  now,"  said  Margie  earnestly, 
thinking  of  the  oatmeal  without  sugar.  "  I  am  trying 
all  I  can." 

"  That's  right,"  said  her  aunt  ;  "  if  your  father  was 
strong  and  well  everything  would  be  easier.  Do  you 
know,  Margie,  I  have  a  great  plan  in  my  head.  I  be- 
lieve I  will  tell  you  about  it." 

"  Oh,  do,  Aunt  Maria  !  " 

"  Well,  in  the  first  place,  your  mother  hasn't  been 
north  since  she  was  married,  fifteen  years  ago  ;  and  I 
have  seen  her  only  once  in  all  those  years." 

Margie  nodded. 

"  And  I  have  been  thinking  how  fine  it  would  be  if 
she  and  your  father  would  come  north  and  stay  a 
month  or  two  with  us." 


68  Marjories    VFay 

"Oh  !"  said  Margie;  then  she  grew  silent,  remem- 
bering how  often  she  had  heard  them  talk  of  that  very 
thing,  and  always  her  mother  had  said  that  they 
could  not  afford  it.  So  Margie  shook  her  head, 
sadly. 

"  They  can't  afford  it,"  she  said. 

"  But  I  have  a  plan,"  said  Aunt  Maria,  gaily.  "  You 
know  the  beautiful  pine  grove  on  the  hill?  Your 
grandfather  never  would  allow  a  tree  to  be  cut  there, 
but  the  underbrush  was  always  kept  cleared  away  and 
the  trees  well  cared  for,  so  that  now  they  are  so  beau- 
tiful that  people  drive  from  neighboring  towns  to  see 
them ;  and  now  the  town  of  Ashley  wants  to  buy  that 
hill  for  a  park,  so  that  I  will  not  have  a  chance  to  cut 
down  the  beautiful  trees  and  sell  them  for  timber. 
And  they  will  pay  me  two  thousand  dollars  for  the 
ten  acres.  And  I  shall  write  your  mother  that  I  will 
give  her  one  thousand  if  she  and  your  father  will  come 
and  get  it." 

"  Oh,  goody  ! "  said  Margie.  "  When  do  you  suppose 
they'll  come  ?  " 

"I  think  about  Thanksgiving  time,"  said  Aunt 
Maria. 

That  afternoon  they  walked  up  the  hill  to  the  pines. 
Buff  went  with  them,  chasing  a  chipmunk  along  the 


Marjories    ff^ay  69 

fence,  and  falling  over  in  his  hurry  to  go  faster  than 
his  uncertain  legs  would  carry  him. 

The  big  pine-trees  were  on  the  slope  of  the  hill. 
They  did  not  grow  very  closely  together,  and  the 
ground  under  them  was  thickly  carpeted  with  the 
clean  pine-needles.  Miss  Wing  leaned  against  a  big 
tree  and  touched  it  affectionately. 

"  Your  mother  and  I  used  to  call  this  circle  of  trees 
the  library,"  she  said.  "When  we  were  children 
father  and  mother  used  to  come  up  here  with  us  on 
Sunday  afternoons  in  summer  and  father  would  read 
to  us.  Sometimes  we  brought  a  lunch  with  us,  and 
then  we  would  go  over  where  those  big,  big  trees  are 
and  eat  it  there ;  and  we  called  that  the  dining-room. 
We  were  never  allowed  to  leave  any  pieces  of  paper 
or  rubbish  about.  Your  grandfather  was  very  proud 
of  this  grove.  People  say  there  are  very  few  such 
trees  left  in  Massachusetts." 

Marjorie  looked  about  admiringly.  The  sunlight 
flickered  through  the  green  boughs,  but  it  was  very 
cool  and  every  little  breeze  was  fragrant  with  the 
breath  of  the  pine.  "We  will  come  up  here  real 
often,  won't  we,  Aunt  Maria  ?  "  she  said.  "  I  think  it 
would  be  a  lovely  place  to  play  dolls.  Every  tree 


jo  Marjories 

could  be  a  house,  and  every  doll  have  a  tree,  and  then 
they  could  visit." 

"Mercy  me!"  exclaimed  Miss  Maria,  looking  at 
Marjorie  anxiously.  "  What  have  I  been  thinking  of ! 
You  haven't  a  doll  to  your  name." 

Marjorie  laughed.  "  I  have  four  at  home,"  she  said  ; 
"  but  you  see,  being  such  a  large  girl,  and  bringing 
Buff,  I  thought  I  better  not  bring  even  Victoria. 
She's  the  littlest  one." 

""Well,"  said  Miss  "Wing,  "I  have  two  beautiful 
dolls  in  a  bureau  drawer  in  my  room  ;  they  have  been 
there  twenty  years,  and  I  expect  that  they  will  need 
new  clothes  and  new  names  by  this  time.  We  will 
get  those  dolls  out  to-night ;  and  I  tell  you  what  we 
will  do,  Margie,  we  will  have  a  dolls'  party  here  in  the 
grove.  We  will  ask  the  little  Streeter  girls,  and 
Mollie  West,  and  Adrienne  Wilson,  and  Josie  Stevens 
and  Ferdinand  Webb.  And  I  will  make  strawberry 
ice  cream." 

"Oh,  Aunt  Maria,"  said  Margie,  "that  will  be 
lovely.  When  will  we  have  the  party  ?  " 

"  We  will  have  it  Saturday,"  said  Miss  Wing. 

Margie  could  hardly  believe  that  so  many  delightful 
things  could  happen  in  one  day ;  for  she  was  looking 
forward  to  the  visit  from  her  mother  and  father,  and 


Marjories    W^ay  71 


now  she  was  not  only  to  have  two  dolls  of  her  own, 
but  a  party  with  strawberry  ice  cream.  She  sighed  a 
little,  however,  for  all  these  things  seemed  to  make  it 
almost  impossible  for  her  to  grow  like  her  aunt  as 
rapidly  as  she  had  hoped  to  do. 


CHAPTER  VIII 
BETTY'S  WIGWAM 

BETTY  had  taken  her  dolls  out  under  the  pine-trees 
where  she  could  look  across  toward  Margie's  house. 
She  had  changed  the  name  of  her  best  doll  to  "  Mar- 
jorie."  It  did  not  seem  as  lonely  to  Betty  after  she 
had  decided  to  rename  her  doll.  She  had  a  new  game 
to  play  to-day,  she  was  "  making-believe "  that  the 
pine  woods  was  Ashley,  where  Margie  had  gone  to 
live,  and  that  she  herself  was  "  Aunt  Maria."  One 
doll  was  named  "  Betty  "  and  the  other  was  "  Mar- 
jorie,"  and  "  Betty  "  and  "  Marjorie  "  had  just  started 
for  school  when  the  real  Betty  saw  Luke  coming  along 
the  path  by  the  cotton-field. 

"  Luke !  Luke  Sanders,"  she  called  after  him,  and 
the  boy  waved  his  hat  in  answer.  When  he  came 
nearer  Betty  was  dancing  about.  "  Oh,  Luke  !  "  she 
said,  "I've  thought  of  something  lovely  for  you  to 
do!" 

"What?"  asked  Luke,  a  little  doubtfully. 

"  You  can  build  me  a  playhouse  right  here  under 
the  trees.  Not  a  doll's  playhouse,  but  a  real,  truly 

72 


Marjories    fPay  73 

one,  big  enough  for  me  to  go  into.  And  I  can  keep 
'  Margie '  and  '  Betty '  in  it,  and  when  I  come  down 
here  to  play  I  can  make  believe  it  is  Ashley." 

"  What  could  I  make  it  out  of  ?  "  asked  Luke. 

"  Oh,  you  can  get  some  boards  and  things,"  said 
Betty ;  "and  I  should  like  to  have  you  begin  it  right 
away,  because  the  first  thing  we  know  I  will  be  going 
to  Columbia  to  go  to  school." 

Luke  looked  about  the  open  space  where  Betty  had 
been  playing.  It  was  surrounded  by  large  trees,  but 
near  the  centre  of  the  opening  were  two  slender 
young  pines.  The  boy  looked  at  these  carefully. 

"  I  could  make  you  a  camp,"  he  said,  "  such  as 
hunters  make  when  they  are  away  off  in  the  forests.'' 

"  Oh,  how  will  you  make  it,  Luke  ?  " 

"  First  I  will  have  to  bend  these  young  trees  over," 
said  Luke,  "  and  fasten  the  tops  down  to  the  ground 
with  big  rocks.  And  then  put  pine  boughs  all  across 
the  top  from  one  tree  to  the  other  to  make  a 
roof." 

"  But  the  ends  and  sides  will  be  all  open,"  objected 
Betty.  "I  don't  want  that  kind  of  a  house." 

"  Well,"  said  Luke,  "  I  can't  make  a  board  house. 
I  s'pose  I  might  make  a  wigwam." 

"  A  wigwam  ?  "  asked  Betty. 


74  Marjories    IF  ay 

"  A  wigwam  is  what  the  Indians  call  their  house," 
explained  Luke. 

"  Did  you  ever  make  one  ?  "  questioned  Betty. 

"  No,"  said  Luke ;  "  but  there's  a  man  who  lives  the 
other  side  of  Saluda  Swamp,  who  has  seen  Indians 
and  wigwams,  and  he  told  me  about  them.  They  are 
like  this ; "  and  with  a  stick  Luke  marked  off  on  the 
soft  earth  a  rude  picture  of  a  wigwam. 

"Oh,  Luke,  let's  make  one.  I  could  help,"  said 
Betty. 

"The  best  wigwams  are  covered  with  the  skins  of 
wild  animals,"  said  Luke,  thoughtfully. 

"  And  we  haven't  any  wild  animals,  have  we  ? " 
said  Betty. 

"  But  if  Indians  are  off  in  the  woods  they  cover 
them  with  the  branches  of  trees,"  continued  Luke. 

"  Oh,  we  can  do  that,"  agreed  Betty. 

"  If  we  had  blankets  or  rugs  to  cover  it  it  would  be 
a  lot  better  and  easier,"  continued  Luke.  "  Dad  has 
an  old  buffalo  robe  in  the  shed  that  I  know  he'll  lend 
me." 

"And  I  guess  I  can  get  a  shawl,"  added  Betty. 
"  Let's  begin  now,  Luke." 

"  We'll  have  to  have  some  poles  for  the  frame," 
said  Luke.  "I  guess  dad  will  lend  me  some;  he's 


Marjories    W^ay  75 

got  a  lot  of  poles  cut  for  the  beans,  and  piled  up 
back  of  the  shed.  I'll  go  get  some." 

"  And  I'll  go  with  you,"  said  Betty  happily ;  and 
putting  the  dolls  carefully  under  a  pile  of  brush  the 
children  started  after  the  poles. 

They  proved  longer  and  heavier  than  Betty  had  ex- 
pected ;  but  she  tugged  bravely  away  at  the  bunch  she 
had  selected,  and  listened  to  Luke's  explanation  of 
how  real  wigwams  were  built. 

By  the  time  they  got  the  bean  poles  to  the  clearing 
in  the  wood  they  were  too  tired  to  begin  work,  and 
Luke  said  that  it  was  time  for  him  to  go  home  and 
get  his  father's  supper.  "  But  I'll  come  over  in  the 
morning  and  bring  the  buffalo  robe,"  he  said. 

"  And  I'll  bring  a  shawl,"  said  Betty.  "  It  will  be 
lovely  to  have  a  real  Indian  house,  won't  it  ?  And 
when  Margie  comes  home,  if  she  isn't  too  grown  up, 
she  can  play  in  it,  too." 

Luke  was  at  the  pine  woods  in  good  season  the 
next  morning,  and  brought  with  him  the  buffalo 
robe,  a  sharp  hatchet  and  a  ball  of  stout  twine. 
First  he  drew  a  good  sized  circle  in  the  soft  earth, 
and  then  began  to  stick  the  poles  in,  each  one 
slanting  toward  the  centre  of  the  circle.  It  did 
not  make  as  high  a  framework  as  he  had  expected, 


76  Marjories    Jf^ay 

and  he  found  it  an  easy  matter  to  throw  the  old 
robe  over  the  top  of  the  sticks.  Then  he  took  his 
string  and  wove  it  around  the  poles  about  three 
feet  from  where  they  went  into  the  ground,  so  that 
it  would  be  firmer.  He  had  this  all  completed  when 
he  saw  Betty  coming  across  the  cotton-field.  She 
was  coming  very  slowly,  and  her  arms  were  filled, 
while  something  trailed  behind  her  at  which  she 
stopped  to  look  every  few  steps.  "  Luke,"  she 
called,  "oh,  Luke,  come  and  pick  up  the  wild- 
beast's-skin." 

Luke  ran  to  meet  her,  and  found  that  a  long  black 
rug  was  trailing  behind  her,  while  in  her  arms  were 
her  two  dolls,  a  big  shawl,  and  a  tin  pail. 

Betty  dropped  her  burdens  as  Luke  reached  her, 
and  pointed  proudly  toward  a  much-worn  bearskin  rug. 

"  Wild-beast-skin,"  she  said  proudly.  "  Once  'twas 
a  bear,  but  now  it's  all  worn  out,  and  my  mother  says 
we  can  have  it  for  the  wigwam." 

"  What's  the  pail  for  ?  "  asked  Luke,  gathering  up 
the  shawl,  the  bearskin  and  the  tin  pail,  and  leaving 
Betty  only  the  dolls  to  carry. 

"  Oh,  that's  to  keep  house  with,"  said  Betty.  "  Oh, 
Luke,  I'll  have  to  stoop  way  over  to  get  into  it,"  said 
Betty. 


Marjories    Way  77 

"  Indians  always  do,"  replied  Luke,  who  was  busy 
fastening  the  bearskin  over  the  back  of  the  tent.  The 
shawl  covered  one  side  and,  although  a  goodly  space 
remained  open  Betty  said  that  she  did  not  care,  that 
she  could  play  it  was  a  window.  But  Luke  insisted 
on  cutting  pine  boughs  and  weaving  them  in  and  out 
until  the  only  opening  in  the  wigwam  was  the  place 
left  for  a  door.  By  the  time  this  was  done  Luke  had 
to  hurry  home  to  help  his  father,  and  Betty  found  it 
much  pleasanter  to  sit  just  outside  the  wigwam  than  to 
stay  in  it.  But  she  felt  very  proud  of  the  new  play- 
house, and  "  Margie  "  and  "  Betty  "  were  sent  in  and 
out  quite  as  if  it  was  their  own  home. 

Luke  did  not  come  back  to  the  wigwam  that  day, 
but  he  had  a  plan  which  he  had  not  told  Betty.  He 
had  resolved  to  himself  that  when  it  got  dark  he 
would  creep  out  of  bed  without  awakening  his  father, 
and  go  up  and  sleep  in  the  wigwam.  He  wished  that 
there  was  some  boy  to  go  with  him  so  they  could 
play  at  being  Indians,  but  he  thought  it  would  be 
almost  an  adventure  to  creep  through  the  woods  in 
the  dark,  crawl  into  the  wigwam,  roll  himself  up  in  a 
blanket,  and  sleep  until  morning. 

It  seemed  a  very  long  day,  but  Luke  went  to  bed  as 
early  as  he  could.  He  got  into  bed  without  undress- 


78  Marjories    Way 

ing,  and  pulled  the  thin  quilt  over  him.  Mr.  Sanders' 
bed  was  in  the  same  room,  but  it  seemed  to  Luke  that 
his  father  would  never  come  indoors  and  go  to  bed. 
But  at  last  Mr.  Sanders  was  safely  in  bed,  and  Luke 
began  to  listen  for  the  faint  snores  which  would 
assure  him  that  his  father  was  fast  asleep.  Luke 
slipped  noiselessly  out  of  bed,  rolled  up  the  thin  quilt, 
and  crept  cautiously  down  the  narrow,  creaking  stair- 
way. A  whispered  word  to  the  uneasy  dogs  and  they 
became  silent,  and  the  boy  was  out  of  the  house  and 
running  swiftly  along  toward  the  woods.  As  he 
reached  the  shadow  of  the  big  trees  he  thought 
he  heard  some  one  behind  him,  and  stopped  and 
looked  back,  but  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen,  and 
Luke  went  on  more  slowly.  Now  he  was  a  scout  on 
the  outlook  for  hostile  Indians  who  must  be  near  at 
hand,  and  he  frequently  ran  behind  a  big  tree,  and 
peered  out  cautiously,  as  he  imagined  a  scout  might 
do.  Once  he  was  almost  sure  that  he  saw  a  figure 
moving  among  the  trees,  and  with  his  heart  beating 
more  quickly  than  usual  he  hurried  on  toward  the 
wigwam. 

It  looked  very  low  and  dark  to  Luke  as  he  came 
near  it,  and  when  he  had  poked  the  quilt  in  and  pre- 
pared to  follow  it  through  the  opening  he  almost  wished 


Marjories    Jf^ay  79 

that  he  was  safe  at  home.  What  if  some  wild  ani- 
mal had  crawled  in  there  for  a  night's  shelter  ?  There 
were  not  any  dangerous  wild  animals  in  the  vicinity, 
but  at  the  thought  of  them  Luke  paused  and  reached 
into  his  pocket  for  his  one-bladed  knife.  Opening 
the  blade  and  grasping  the  handle  firmly  Luke  fol- 
lowed the  quilt  into  the  wigwam.  The  night  was 
warm,  there  was  but  little  air  stirring,  and  it  seemed 
very  close  to  Luke,  shut  in  by  the  shawl  and  bearskin 
rug.  He  found  that  the  wigwam  was  hardly  large 
enough  for  him  to  stretch  himself  out  in  comfort,  and 
the  ground  seemed  full  of  roots  and  uncomfortable 
places. 

He  had  closed  his  knife  and  put  it  back  in  his 
pocket,  and  was  trying  to  imagine  himself  an  Indian 
chief  when  he  heard  steps  outside  the  wigwam.  The 
boy  held  his  breath  and  listened.  Some  one  was  surely 
walking  around  the  little  camp.  Then  came  a  sub- 
dued laugh,  which  frightened  Luke  even  more  than 
the  steps.  He  felt  sure  that  it  was  a  tramp  who  had 
wandered  from  the  highway  to  sleep  in  the  woods. 

"  He  will  try  and  crawl  in  here  to  sleep,"  thought 
Luke,  "  and  I  must  get  out." 

The  boy  listened  anxiously,  but  did  not  hear  any 
further  sounds.  It  grew  very  warm  and  he  wished 


8o  Marjories 

that  he  had  left  the  quilt  at  home.  Finally  he  went 
to  sleep.  "When  he  awoke  he  felt  sure  that  it  must  be 
very  near  morning,  and  crawled  out  of  the  wigwam, 
pulling  the  quilt  after  him.  It  was  so  dark  and  still 
that  Luke  stood  for  a  moment  wondering  what  time 
it  was.  He  wanted  to  get  home  before  daylight,  be- 
fore his  father  should  wake  up  and  miss  him. 

"  Dad  would  be  frightened  to  wake  up  and  find  me 
gone,"  thought  the  boy,  and  quickly  rolling  up  the 
quilt  he  started  for  home.  It  seemed  a  much  longer 
distance  than  usual,  and  in  the  dark  Luke  stumbled 
over  the  roots  of  the  trees,  and  once  fell  over  a  pile  of 
brush.  As  he  neared  the  house  he  gave  a  low  whistle 
that  the  dogs  might  recognize  him,  and  crept  into  the 
house  and  up  the  stairs.  He  slipped  off  his  clothes 
and  crept  into  bed.  In  a  moment,  he  thought,,  his 
father  would  say  it  was  time  to  get  up,  and  Luke  was 
very  sleepy  for  a  boy  who  had  slept  all  night  in  the 
woods. 

"Well,  son,"  his  father  said  in  a  moment,  "got 
home  all  safe,  didn't  you  ?  "  and  there  came  a  chuck- 
ling laugh,  such  as  Luke  had  heard  when  he  lay  in  the 
wigwam. 

"  Oh,  dad,  how  did  you  know  ?  "  asked  Luke. 

"  Oh,  I  just  followed  you,"  replied  Mr.  Sanders. 


Marjories    Way  81 

"  And  then  I  really  did  see  somebody  in  the  woods, 
and  somebody  did  walk  around  the  wigwam  ?  " 
"  I  did,"  said  Mr.  Sanders. 
"  Is  it  most  time  to  get  up,  dad  ?  " 
"  The  clock  has  just  struck  eleven,  son." 
"  Oh,  dad  !  wasn't  I  in  that  wigwam  but  an  hour  ?  " 
"Just   about  an  hour."     Then  there  was  a  little 
silence,  but  after  a  moment  a  sleepy  voice  said, 
"  Dad,  you  won't  tell !  " 
"  No,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Sanders. 


CHAPTER  IX 
LUKE'S  LESSONS 

ONE  morning  a  few  days  after  Marjorie's  departure 
for  Ashley,  Mrs.  Philips  was  busy  in  the  kitchen. 
Aunt  Cora  was  needed  to  help  in  the  garden,  so  the 
mistress  of  the  house  found  many  extra  things  to  do. 
Her  thoughts  were  very  full  of  the  little  girl  so  far 
away,  and  when  a  firm  knock  on  the  side  of  the  open 
kitchen  door  caused  her  to  turn  around  she  was  pleased 
to  see  that  it  was  Luke  Sanders. 

His  hair  was  as  smooth  as  water  could  make  it.  his 
faded  shirt  was  clean,  and  Mrs.  Philips  noticed  that 
he  had  on  a  pair  of  new  jean  trousers.  In  one  hand  he 
held  the  remains  of  an  old  straw  hat,  while  the  other 
grasped  a  large  book.  He  looked  up  at  Mrs.  Philips 
with  a  bashful  smile,  and  said  : 

"  I  s'pose  you  was  lookin'  for  me  before  this,  but 
I've  had  a  good  deal  to  do  this  week." 

Mrs.  Philips  smiled,  and  wondered  what  the  book 
was  that  Luke  held  so  firmly. 

"  Margie  said  you'd  hear  my  lessons,"  said  the  boy 
finally,  laying  the  book  on  the  window-sill.  "  She 

82 


Marjories    tf^ay  83 

said  it  was  time  I  learned  to  do  suras.  I  didn't  have 
any  book  about  'rithmetic,  but  dad  bought  this  at 
an  auction  once,  and  he  says  it's  got  figures  in  it." 

Mrs.  Philips  for  a  moment  hesitated.  She  had  so 
much  to  do ;  how  could  she  spare  time  for  the  task 
Margie  had  promised  ?  But  when  she  looked  at  the 
boy's  wistful  face,  noticed  the  effort  he  had  made  to 
come  as  tidy  and  clean  as  possible,  and  remembered 
how  little  chance  he  had  to  learn,  she  resolved  that 
she  would  find  time. 

u  I  must  help  this  boy  as  I  would  wish  any  one  to 
help  my  little  girl,"  she  thought,  and  picked  up  Luke's 
book  and  read  the  title,  "  Ancient  and  Modern  Astrol- 
ogy." 

"  I  am  afraid  this  book  will  not  be  of  much  use  to  us," 
she  said,  with  the  kindly  smile  which  always  made 
Luke  wish  that  Mrs.  Philips  was  his  mother ;  "  but 
we  shan't  need  a  book  at  present." 

Margie  had  forgotten  to  tell  her  mother  of  the 
promise  to  Luke,  but  Mrs.  Philips  did  not  wish  the 
boy  to  know  it. 

"  I  have  Margie's  slate,"  she  said,  "  and  I  will  get  it 
for  you,  and  you  can  have  your  lesson  right  here  by 
the  window,  while  I  finish  my  ironing." 

She  went  for  the  slate,  and  sitting  down  by  Luke 


84  Marjorie 


told  him  what  figures  represented  and  set  him  a  good, 
clear  copy.  She  found  that  he  could  count  readily, 
and  as  she  ironed  she  gave  him  simple  problems  in  ad- 
dition. 

"  Now,"  she  said,  "  we  will  have  a  little  lesson  in 
mental  arithmetic.  If  I  iron  one  towel  every  two 
minutes,  how  many  towels  will  I  iron  in  an  hour? 
There  are  sixty  minutes  in  an  hour,  you  know." 

This  seemed  a  great  puzzle  to  Luke,  and  at  first  he 
was  disposed  to  give  it  up.  But  Mrs.  Philips  would 
not  listen  to  "  giving  up." 

"  Why,"  she  said,  "  before  Margie  gets  home,  I  shall 
expect  you  to  tell  me  how  many  square  feet  there  are 
in  an  acre,  and  all  sorts  of  things.  No  giving  up, 
Luke,  when  you  begin  anything  worth  while  ;  "  and 
after  a  few  uncertain  guesses  Luke  worked  out  the 
right  answer  to  the  problem,  and  was  more  pleased 
than  Mrs.  Philips  herself. 

"  I  s'pose  I'll  be  learning  grammar  soon,"  said  Luke 
hopefully,  when  the  lesson  time  was  over. 

Then  Mrs.  Philips  explained  to  him  what  "  gram- 
mar "  meant. 

"  We  will  take  nouns  and  pronouns  for  our  first  les- 
son in  grammar,"  she  said. 

"  Nouns  and  pronouns,"  repeated  Luke  admiringly. 


Luke  came  every  day  for  his  lesson 


Marjories    W^ay  85 


"  And  after  this,  Luke,"  she  continued,  "  we  will 
have  our  lesson  begin  at  three  in  the  afternoon.  I 
will  be  on  the  side  porch  at  that  hour  and  you  come 
right  there." 

"  Yes'm,"  said  the  boy,  looking  up  at  her  gratefully. 
"Ain't  there  something  I  can  do  for  you,  Mrs. 
Philips  ;  you  are  so  good  to  me,  I'd  do  anything  for 
you." 

"  There  will  be  something  you  can  do  for  me  later 
on,"  said  Mrs.  Philips,  resting  her  hand  on  the  boy's 
shoulder,  and  feeling  a  little  choking  in  her  throat  as 
she  looked  at  his  thin  face.  "  Now,  I  baked  some 
bread  myself  this  morning,  and  I  am  going  to  wrap 
up  a  loaf  for  you  to  take  home  to  surprise  your  father 
with;  and  to-morrow  perhaps  we  will  begin  on 
nouns." 

"  Yes'm.    Nouns  and  pro-nouns,"  said  Luke. 

Luke  came  promptly  every  day  for  his  lesson,  and 
however  tired  or  busy  Mrs.  Philips  might  be,  she  was 
always  ready  for  her  pupil.  When  Margie  wrote  to 
Luke  about  making  the  wooden  dogs  for  Ferdinand  he 
came  to  Mrs.  Philips  with  a  sober  face. 

"  Don't  seem  as  if  I  ought  to  take  money  for  whit- 
tling things  out  of  wood,"  he  said,  "  'specially  when  I 
do  it  'cause  I  like  to,"  but  Mrs.  Philips  assured  him 


86  Marjories 


that  it  was  perfectly  right  for  Ferdinand  to  pay  for 
the  wooden  dogs. 

"  Old  «  Pointer  '  will  look  better  in  wood  than  Buff," 
explained  Luke.  "  You  see  Pointer's  nose  and  ears 
are  easier  to  make  ;  they  are  like  this  ;  "  and  with  a 
few  strokes  of  his  slate  pencil  Luke  drew  old  Pointer's 
head,  and  held  it  up  for  Mrs.  Philips  to  see.  "  While 
Buff's  head  is  like  this  ;  "  and  the  pencil  drew  a  like- 
ness of  Margie's  puppy. 

Mrs.  Philips  was  silent  for  a  moment  as  she  looked 
at  the  slate. 

"Margie  wanted  you  to  be  an  artist,  didn't  she, 
Luke  ?  "  she  said  at  length. 

"Yes'm,"  answered  the  boy,  "but  she's  decided, 
since  I  gave  her  the  wooden  dog,  that  I'd  better  be  a 
carpenter." 

"  Why  did  she  want  you  to  be  an  artist  ?  "  ques- 
tioned Mrs.  Philips. 

"Because  that  lame  boy  was.  The  one  her  Aunt 
Maria  taught  to  read,  same  as  Margie  taught  me,"  ex- 
plained Luke. 

"  Did  Margie  ever  see  you  draw  ?  " 

"Why,  I  never  did  draw,"  said  Luke.  "Margie 
used  to  say  there  wasn't  anybody  to  teach  me  ;  and 
she  said  she  guessed  I  didn't  look  the  way  artists  did." 


Marjories    Way  87 

Mrs.  Philips  smiled.  "  Well,  this  looks  very  much 
like  '  Pointer,'  "  she  said. 

Luke  laughed.  "  Margie  says  artists  make  beautiful 
pictures  that  look  so  much  like  real  people  that  some- 
times folks  think  it  is  real  people.  Did  you  ever  see  a 
picture  like  that,  Mrs.  Philips  ?  " 

"I  have  seen  excellent  portraits,"  she  answered 
thoughtfully. 

Betty  came  over  sometimes  in  the  late  afternoons, 
and  listened  admiringly  to  Luke's  lessons.  Margie 
had  written  to  Betty  that  she  had  a  secret,  that  it 
could  not  be  told  until  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Philips  came 
north,  as  it  was  to  be  a  surprise  for  them  ;  and  some- 
thing which  would  please  them  very  much.  She 
added  that  even  her  Aunt  Maria  did  not  know  about  it. 

"  What  do  you  s'pose  it  is,  Mrs.  Philips  ?  "  Betty 
questioned  eagerly. 

"  I  cannot  imagine,"  responded  Mrs.  Philips.  "  I 
have  a  secret  myself,"  she  continued  with  a  little 
laugh,  "  and  a  surprise  for  Margie,  too,  and  I  can't 
even  tell  Betty." 

Betty  laughed  and  said  she  was  going  to  have  a 
secret  herself,  and  that  she  wouldn't  tell  anybody. 
But  in  a  few  days  she  confided  in  Mrs.  Philips  that  she 
and  Grandma  Savory  had  a  lovely  secret. 


Marjorie 


"Nobody  is  to  know  it  until  grandma  comes  again, 
and  that  will  be  the  week  before  I  go  to  Columbia," 
she  said,  "  but  I'll  tell  you  a  little  bit  about  it.  It's 
about  Luke  and  the  Clay  boys." 

"  And  I'll  tell  you  a  little  bit  about  my  secret,"  said 
Mrs.  Philips.  "  My  secret  is  about  Luke,  too." 

Luke  was  present  when  these  confidences  were  ex- 
changed, and  he  immediately  began  to  lay  deep 
schemes  to  discover  the  secret  about  the  Clay  boys 
and  himself.  He  questioned  Betty  vigorously,  but  not 
a  word  would  she  tell  him. 

"  I  hope  you  can  go  to  school  this  fall,  Luke,"  Mrs. 
Philips  said  one  day.  "  The  school  at  the  corner  does 
not  begin  until  late  in  October.  Don't  you  think 
your  father  would  be  willing  for  you  to  go  ?  " 

Betty  was  there  that  afternoon,  and  when  Luke 
answered,  "  He'd  be  willing  enough ;  but  I  don't  want 
to  go,  for  I  haven't  any  decent  clothes,  and  the  other 
boys  make  fun  of  me ; "  then  Betty  had  giggled,  and 
her  yellow  braid  swung  rapidly  back  and  forth.  Luke 
looked  at  her  reproachfully,  and  Betty's  face  sobered 
quickly.  After  Luke  went  home  that  day  Betty  told 
Mrs.  Philips  her  secret,  and  was  delighted  when  Mrs. 
Philips  said  she  thought  it  was  the  nicest  secret  she 
had  ever  heard. 


Marjories 

"  Is  it  as  good  as  yours  ?  "  Betty  said,  suggestively. 

But  Mrs.  Philips  only  laughed  and  said,  "  Oh,  my 
secret  can  not  be  told  for  ever  so  long.  But  I  promise 
to  tell  you  first." 

"  Before  you  do  Margie  ?  " 

Mrs.  Philips  nodded.  "  Yes,  before  I  tell  Margie ; 
because  it  is  to  be  a  surprise  for  her." 

"  Do  you  suppose  my  secret  is  as  nice  a  one  as  Mar- 
gie's ?  "  questioned  Betty. 

"  "Why,  I  think  it  must  be,"  replied  Mrs.  Philips. 

"I  thought  about  it  first,"  explained  Betty,  "the 
day  grandma  said  Luke  was  about  as  tall  as  the  Clay 
boys  ;  and  when  I  told  grandma  that  Luke  didn't  have 
any  clothes  'cept  now  and  then  a  shirt  and  his  father's 
old  trousers,  why  then  grandma  thought  of  it  too. 
And  she  said  right  off  that  the  Clay  boys  didn't  half 
wear  out  their  clothes,  and  that  'twas  a  shame, 
grandma  said.  And  after  she  went  back  to  Columbia 
she  talked  with  Mrs.  Clay,  and  grandma  wrote  me  a 
letter  and  said  that  Mrs.  Clay  had  given  her  two  sets 
of  everything.  Think  of  Luke  having  two  hats ! " 
and  Betty  jumped  up  and  down  and  giggled  again. 
"I  guess  Margie  would  feel  real  encouraged  about 
Luke's  being  an  artist  if  she  knew  that,"  she  added. 

"  I  am  sure  she  would,"  agreed  Mrs.  Philips. 


90  Marjorie 


"Father  said  the  Sanders  were  all  dreadful  high- 
spirited.  He  said  he'd  bet  Luke  wouldn't  touch  the 
things  with  a  ten  foot  pole." 

"Oh,"  Mrs.  Philips'  tone  was  puzzled  and  disap- 
pointed. "  Then  we  must  plan  to  have  Luke  pay  for 
the  things,"  she  said.  "  They  are  just  what  he  will 
need  for  school." 

"  I  thought  about  that  when  he  said  he  hadn't  any 
clothes.  That's  what  made  me  giggle,"  said  Betty, 
"  for  grandma  will  come  in  about  a  week,  and  then  he 
will  have  lots  of  clothes,  if  he  will  take  them." 

"  Luke  is  so  generous  himself  that  I  believe  he  will 
take  them.  And  when  your  grandma  comes,  dear 
Betty,  you  can  give  Luke  the  things  yourself,  and  tell 
him  all  about  it  just  as  you  have  me." 

"I'm  going  to  write  Margie  about  it,  too,"  said 
Betty.  "  You  see  it  will  make  her  think  of  the  folks 
that  helped  Arthur  Field,  won't  it?" 

"Yes,  perhaps  it  will,"  smilingly  agreed  Mrs. 
Philips. 


CHAPTER  X 

A   PICNIC   AT  THE   PINES 

THE  two  dolls  which  Aunt  Maria  had  told  Margie 
about  proved  to  be  beautiful  creatures.  One  was  a 
china  doll  with  black  curls,  and  unusually  red  lips  and 
cheeks.  Her  hands  and  feet  were  also  of  china.  Her 
body  was  of  kid,  and  all  her  clothes  could  be  put  on 
and  off.  Her  white  muslin  gown  had  become  a  creamy 
shade  which  Margie  thought  much  prettier  than  a  fresh 
white  dress  would  be. 

"  What  is  her  name  ?  "  asked  Margie,  holding  up  her 
new  treasure  admiringly. 

"  Her  name  is  Georgianna  Violet,"  said  Miss  Wing. 

"  That's  a  lovely  name,"  said  Margie,  setting  Geor- 
gianna Violet  carefully  up  against  the  pillows  on 
Aunt  Maria's  bed,  and  turning  to  look  at  the  other 
doll  which  Aunt  Maria  had  taken  out  of  the  bureau 
drawer. 

This  doll  was  of  wax ;  her  hair  was  yellow  and  her 
eyes  were  blue,  and  her  name  sounded  very  fine ;  it 
was  Rosamund  Antoinette.  When  Margie  heard  these 
beautiful  names  she  could  not  but  feel  sorry  that  Luke 


92  Marjories 


Sanders  had  named  her  puppy  Buff;  and  she  was 
greatly  surprised  when  her  Aunt  Maria  said  that  she 
thought  "Buff"  a  far  better  name  for  a  dog  than 
"  Napoleon." 

"  Perhaps  a  girl  nearly  ten  ought  not  to  play  with 
dolls,"  she  said  rather  soberly  to  her  aunt.  "  Did  you 
play  with  dolls  when  you  were  as  old  as  I  am,  Aunt 
Maria  ?  " 

"  My  dear  child,  I  played  with  dolls  until  I  was  nearly 
fifteen  years  old,"  said  Aunt  Maria  ;  "  and  I  think  ten 
is  just  the  nicest  age  to  really  enjoy  dolls.  When  I 
write  to  your  mother  I  shall  tell  her  to  bring  all  your 
dolls  in  her  trunk." 

Margie  smiled  happily.  "  My,"  she  said,  "  that  will 
be  six  dolls  !  " 

"  A  large  family,"  remarked  Miss  "Wing  seriously. 

When  Ferdinand  received  his  invitation  to  the  party 
he  came  over  to  inquire  if  Buff  was  to  go  ;  and  on 
being  told  that  he  was,  said  that  he  guessed  he  would 
come.  He  looked  at  Margie's  dolls  in  smiling  amaze- 
ment. 

"  I'd  rather  have  Buff,"  he  said.  "  Dolls  can't  play 
with  you,  or  run,  or  do  anything." 

"  But  they  are  lovely  to  make  believe  with,"  said 
Margie.  "  You  can  play  that  they  are  queens,  or  sis- 


Marjories   Way  93 

ters,  or  that  they  are  children,  or  company  or  any- 
thing." 

"  "Well,  you  can  play  that  a  dog  is  a  wild  tiger  or  a 
lion,  and  when  he  runs  after  you  that  your  life  is  in 
peril,"  said  Ferdinand.  "Why,  I'd  rather  have 
wooden  dogs  like  the  one  Luke  gave  you  than  dolls. 
You  could  play  menagerie  with  wooden  animals." 

The  day  of  the  dolls'  party  proved  bright  and  pleas- 
ant. Each  little  girl  had  brought  two  dolls.  Ferdi- 
nand was  the  first  guest  to  arrive,  and  as  he  helped 
with  the  ice  cream  freezer  and  promised  to  keep  an 
eye  on  Buff,  Miss  Wing  decided  that  one  boy  in  the 
party  was  very  acceptable. 

The  ice  cream  freezer  and  the  baskets  with  the  sand- 
wiches and  cakes  were  carried  to  a  group  of  trees 
which  Miss  Wing  called  the  "dining-room,"  and  the 
little  party  gathered  in  the  shade  of  the  "  library." 
Here  each  little  girl  selected  a  tree  as  a  house  for  her 
dolls,  and  they  went  calling  upon  each  other  from  tree 
to  tree.  Margie  received  the  most  calls,  because  all 
the  little  girls  wanted  to  see  Georgianna  Violet  and 
Rosamund  Antoinette,  and  look  at  their  old-fashioned 
dresses. 

The  afternoon  passed  delightfully,  and  about  five 
o'clock  Miss  Wing  called  them  all  to  the  "dining- 


94  Marjories    tf^ay 

room  "  and  they  enjoyed  the  ice  cream  and  goodies  she 
had  ready  for  them.  Ferdinand  was  very  quiet  all 
through  supper-time.  Buff  kept  very  close  to  him,  ap- 
parently tired  out,  for  during  the  afternoon  he  had  run 
busily  about.  Once  he  had  seized  a  doll  belonging  to 
Ada  Streeter,  and  it  had  caused  great  excitement  un- 
til Margie  captured  the  doll  and  restored  it  safely  to 
its  frightened  owner. 

As  they  were  finishing  their  cakes  Ferdinand  "Webb 
took  something  out  of  his  pocket  and  examined  it  care- 
fully. It  was  rolled  up  in  his  handkerchief ;  and  after 
looking  at  it  a  moment  he  scrambled  to  his  feet  and 
going  up  to  where  Miss  "Wing  was  busy  packing  up  the 
baskets,  he  said, 

"  Miss  "Wing,  I've  got  a  nice  bonfire  all  ready,  and 
if  you'd  like  to  have  me,  I'll  light  it,  without  a  match." 

"  Mercy  sakes  ! "  exclaimed  Miss  "Wing.  "  All  my 
life  I  have  watched  these  trees  to  be  sure  no  fire  came 
near  them " 

"  Oh,"  interrupted  Ferdinand,  "  I  know  that ;  my 
father  has  always  told  me  about  being  careful  about 
wood-lots,  especially  your  pines,  Miss  "Wing.  My  bon- 
fire is  down  on  the  edge  of  the  ploughed  ground.  It 
isn't  so  much  the  fire  I  want  to  show  you,  as  the  way 
I'm  going  to  light  it,"  explained  Ferdinand. 


Marjories   Jf^ay  95 

"Well,  then  we  will  all  go  down  and  see  your 
wonderful  match,"  said  Miss  Wing. 

"  But  it  isn't  a  match  at  all,"  persisted  Ferdinand  ; 
"it's  a  lot  more  interesting  than  a  little  sliver  of  a 
match.  You  wait  and  see,  Miss  Wing." 

The  little  girls  were  all  wondering  how  Ferdinand 
could  light  a  fire  without  a  match.  Josie  Stevens 
said  that  she  knew,  that  her  grandmother  had  told 
her  how  people  used  to  strike  fire  with  flint  and  steel. 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Ferdinand,  "  it  isn't  that." 

When  the  girls  reached  the  pile  of  brush  which 
Ferdinand  had  gathered  in  the  lower  field  they 
stood  about  and  watched  him  make  his  prepara- 
tions for  his  mysterious  fire. 

From  his  pocket  he  took  the  treasured  handker- 
chief, unrolled  it  and  displayed  a  brown,  spongy 
substance  as  large  as  a  silver  half-dollar. 

"  That's  punk,"  he  announced. 

"  Punk  ?  "  queried  Margie.    "  What  is  punk  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  guess  it's  a  kind  of  rotten  wood,"  explained 
Ferdinand.  "  It  grows  on  old  stumps.  Sometimes  it 
shines  in  the  night  and  folks  call  it '  fox-fire.' " 

He  did  not  add  that  it  had  taken  him  all  day 
Friday  to  find  the  small  quantity  which  he  dis- 
played so  proudly. 


96  Marjories    Way 

Ferdinand  now  took  from  another  pocket  two 
pieces  of  smooth  wood  and  began  to  rub  them 
briskly  together,  holding  them  close  to  the  punk. 
He  worked  vigorously  for  several  minutes,  and 
finally  a  spark  sprang  from  the  heated  wood  and 
settled  on  the  punk.  He  now  gave  all  his  atten- 
tion to  encouraging  the  spark,  and  placing  the  punk 
in  a  bed  of  light  shavings  and  birch  bark  under 
the  edge  of  the  bush  heap  soon  started  a  crackling 
blaze. 

"There,"  exclaimed  Ferdinand  proudly,  his  face 
red  from  so  much  puffing  and  blowing ;  "  that's  what 
Indians  and  trappers  do  when  they  are  lost  in  the 
woods  and  haven't  any  matches  and  are  almost  ready 
to  freeze  to  death.  I  read  about  it  in  a  book,  and  I've 
worked  it  twice  before." 

The  little  girls  thought  it  very  wonderful,  and 
when  Margie  next  wrote  to  Luke  she  told  him 
about  the  wonderful  punk,  and  added  the  informa- 
tion which  Ferdinand  had  given  her  that,  after  punk 
was  lighted,  it  would  smoulder  an  entire  day  and  night 
unless  kindled  by  exposing  it  to  a  draught.  This 
seemed  very  remarkable  to  Margie.  She  was  sure 
Luke  could  find  quantities  of  punk  along  the  edges 
of  the  Saluda  Swamp. 


Marjories    Way  97 

A  few  weeks  after  the  dolls'  party  school  began, 
and  Margie  found  that  Ada  Streeter  was  to  be  her 
seat-mate.  Ever  since  the  dolls'  party  the  two  little 
girls  had  been  very  friendly,  and  Margie  was  glad  to 
sit  next  Ada  in  school.  They  had  established  a  secret 
post-office  under  a  large  rock  half-way  between  their 
houses.  Aunt  Maria  told  Margie  one  day  that,  when 
she  was  a  little  girl  she  and  Ada  Streeter's  mother 
had  had  a  place  near  the  big  rock  where  they  left 
notes  for  each  other ;  so  Margie  had  lost  no  time  in 
proposing  to  Ada  that  they  should  also  have  a  post- 
office.  "Then  when  we  grow  up  we  can  tell  our 
little  girls  about  it  just  as  Aunt  Maria  told  me," 
Margie  said,  and  Ada  agreed. 

It  was  sometimes  difficult  for  Margie  to  keep  her 
mind  on  her  lessons,  for  she  was  now  counting  the 
weeks  before  her  mother  and  father  would  reach 
Ashley,  and  her  mind  was  full  of  a  delightful  sur. 
prise  that  she  was  planning  for  them.  She  had  con- 
fided in  Ada  in  regard  to  her  plan,  and  in  the  daily 
notes  which  were  tucked  under  the  rock  the  "  secret " 
was  often  referred  to. 

One  Saturday  morning  Miss  Wing  told  Marjorie 
that  they  had  been  invited  to  spend  the  day  with 
some  friends  who  lived  on  a  farm  just  outside  the  village. 


98  Marjorie 


"Mr.  Wyman  will  drive  in  after  us  about  ten 
o'clock,"  she  said,  "and  we  must  be  all  ready  and 
not  keep  him  waiting." 

"  Can  Buff  go  ?  "  Margie  asked  eagerly. 

Miss  Wing  shook  her  head.  "  I  am  afraid  there 
are  too  many  chickens  and  ducks  and  kittens  at  Mr. 
"Wy  man's,  and  that  Buff  might  get  into  trouble," 
she  said. 

Margie  had  heard  a  great  deal  about  Mr.  Wyman. 
He  and  her  Grandfather  Wing  had  been  schoolboys 
together,  and  when  her  mother  and  Aunt  Maria  were 
little  girls  they  used  to  go  out  to  the  farm  to  spend 
the  day  just  as  Margie  was  going. 

It  was  just  ten  o'clock  when  Mr.  Wyman  stopped 
his  big  brown  horse  at  Aunt  Maria's  front  gate, 
and  he  nodded  his  approval  to  find  Miss  Wing  and 
Marjorie  all  ready  to  start. 

"So  this  is  little  Miss  Marjorie,"  he  said,  holding 
out  his  hand  to  the  little  girl,  and  Margie  smiled  up 
at  him,  and  wished  that  Betty  could  be  there. 

Mr.  Wyman  had  very  white  hair  and  whiskers,  and 
he  was  so  stout  that  he  seemed  to  nearly  fill  the  front 
seat.  After  he  had  told  Margie  about  what  her 
mother  used  to  do  when  she  visited  the  farm,  he 


Marjories    ff^ay  99 

turned  to  Miss  Wing  and  said,  "Well,  what  do 
you  hear  about  Arthur  Field  nowadays  ?  " 

"  Oh,"  said  Miss  Wing,  "  he  is  South  now,  and  on 
his  way  home  he  may  stop  and  visit  Marjorie's 
mother." 

"Oh,  Aunt  Maria,  you  never  told  me  that,"  said 
Margie. 

"  Why,  I  believe  I  didn't,"  responded  Miss  Wing, 
with  a  little  laugh.  "  You  see  I  didn't  know  it  until 
the  other  day." 

"'Twill  do  him  good  to  get  where  it's  warmer," 
said  Mr.  Wyman.  "  And  I  s'pose  he  can  paint  pic- 
tures wherever  he  is." 

Margie  sighed  as  she  thought  about  Arthur  Field. 
If  Luke  could  only  have  been  an  artist  instead  of  a 
carpenter  perhaps  Arthur  Field  would  have  become 
interested  in  him,  and  Luke  would  have  grown  up  just 
like  him ;  only  of  course  Luke  would  not  be  lame. 
But  she  had  little  time  to  think  about  it,  for  they 
soon  reached  the  farm ;  and  when  they  went  into  the 
big  kitchen  Margie  thought  that  it  was  the  nicest 
kitchen  that  ever  was.  Aunt  Maria  said  that  every- 
thing was  just  the  same  as  it  had  been  when  she  was 
a  little  girl. 

Mr.  Wyman  asked  Margie  if  she  would  like  to  know 


ioo  Marjorie 


what  her  mother  had  liked  to  do  best  of  all  when  she 
came  to  the  farm?  and  when  she  said,  "Yes,"  he 
brought  in  a  big  basket  heaped  full  of  shining  ears  of 
corn.  Then  he  brought  out  a  fire-shovel  and  a  small 
tub.  Margie  laughed  when  he  laid  the  shovel  across 
the  tub  with  the  handle  resting  on  the  floor,  and  be- 
gan to  draw  the  ears  of  corn  across  the  edges  while 
the  kernels  fell  into  the  tub. 

Then  Mr.  Wyman  took  the  corn-cobs  and  told 
Margie  that  when  her  mother  was  a  little  girl  she 
used  to  build  forts  and  houses  with  corn-cobs  ;  and  he 
showed  her  how  to  make  real  log-cabins,  "  such  as  my 
mother  lived  in  when  she  was  your  age,"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  I  wish  I  had  brought  my  dolls  to  put  in  these 
houses,"  said  Margie. 

"  Well,  you  must  bring  them  next  time,"  he  said. 

After  luncheon  Mr.  Wyman  took  them  through  the 
big  barns. 

"  I'm  glad  Buff  didn't  come,"  said  Margie,  as  a  jet 
black  kitten  scampered  by  them.  "  You  see  cats  don't 
seem  to  like  Buff,"  she  explained  to  Mr.  Wyman. 

''  Then  he'd  have  a  pretty  hard  time  out  here,"  said 
Mr.  Wyman  ;  "  for  I've  got  seven  cats,  and  most  of 
them  black." 

On  the  drive  home  Mr.  Wyman  and  Miss  Wing 


Marjories    Way  101 

talked  about  Arthur  Field,  and  Margie  listened  eagerly. 
It  seemed  to  her  a  very  wonderful  thing  to  be  an  artist 
and  paint  pictures ;  and  she  thought  how  proud  Aunt 
Maria  must  be  that  she  had  taught  him  to  read,  and 
helped  him  to  learn  to  draw. 

"  I  taught  Luke  to  read,  too,"  she  thought  to  her- 
self ;  "  but  I  guess  it  isn't  going  to  turn  out  just  as  I 
thought  it  would.  Being  a  carpenter  isn't  what  I 
expected  of  him." 


CHAPTEK  XI 

A  DAY   OF   DELIGHTS 

"  MARGIE,  Margie,"  called  Aunt  Maria  very  early 
one  morning  about  a  week  after  the  visit  to  Farmer 
Wyman's,  "  get  up,  my  dear.  For  what  do  you  sup- 
pose has  happened  ?  We  are  invited  to  spend  the  day 
in  Boston  with  Mrs.  Melchin." 

"  Who  is  Mrs.  Melchin  ? "  questioned  Margie 
eagerly,  as  she  jumped  out  of  bed;  "and  why  didn't 
she  ask  us  before  ?  " 

"  Come  right  down  to  breakfast,"  responded  Aunt 
Maria,  "  and  I  will  tell  you  all  about  it ; "  and  in  a 
few  moments  Margie  was  sitting  at  the  breakfast- 
table. 

"  Mrs.  Melchin,"  said  Aunt  Maria,  "  lives  in  a  beauti- 
ful house  on  Beacon  Street  in  Boston,  and  she  is  an 
old  lady.  She  was  a  friend  of  your  grandmother's, 
and  when  your  mother  and  I  were  little  girls  we  were 
sometimes  invited  to  go  in  and  spend  a  day  with  Mrs. 
Melchin  just  as  we  are  invited  to-day.  Only  in  those 
days  we  used  to  be  asked  by  a  letter,  but  this  invitation 
came  by  telephone." 

102 


Marjories    W^ay  103 

"Did  you  like  to  go  and  visit  her?"  questioned 
Margie,  with  a  little  tone  in  her  voice  as  if  she  herself 
did  not  care  much  about  the  visit. 

"  Like  to  go  !  "  exclaimed  Aunt  Maria.  "  Indeed 
we  did  !  We  used  to  think  and  talk  about  it  for 
weeks  after  a  day  with  Mrs.  Melchin ;  and  I  want  to 
take  the  nine  o'clock  train  this  morning  so  that  we 
can  have  a  lovely  long  day  with  her." 

"  What  did  you  and  mamma  do  when  you  went  to 
see  Mrs.  Melchin  ?  "  asked  Margie. 

"  Wait  and  see,"  said  Miss  Maria,  with  a  little  nod 
of  her  head,  which  made  Margie  sure  that  something 
very  pleasant  must  be  in  store  for  her. 

The  day  was  warm,  and  Aunt  Maria  wore  the  pretty 
gray  dress  which  Margie  always  admired,  and  the 
pink  cameo  brooch.  Margie  wore  a  white  dress,  and 
her  best  hat.  Aunt  Maria  said  that  Mrs.  Melchin 
always  liked  to  see  little  girls  in  white ;  and  Margie 
began  to  think  that  Mrs.  Melchin  must  be  a  very 
particular  old  lady  if  Aunt  Maria  was  so  careful  to 
please  her.  Margie  almost  wished  that  she  could  stay 
at  home  and  play  with  her  dolls  on  the  shady  piazza ; 
but  she  remembered  Aunt  Maria's  nod,  and  wondered 
what  delightful  surprise  could  be  in  store  for  her  at 
the  beautiful  house  on  Beacon  Street. 


104  Marjories 

When  they  reached  Boston  they  walked  through 
the  long  railway  station  and  then  through  a  narrow 
street,  and  came  out  directly  opposite  to  a  beautiful 
garden. 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Margie  eagerly,  "  is  this  Mrs.  Melchin's 
garden  ?  " 

"No,  indeed,"  said  Aunt  Maria,  with  a  little  laugh, 
"these  are  the  Public  Gardens,  and  they  belong  to 
every  one  in  Boston." 

Then  Margie  noticed  that  a  great  many  people 
were  walking  about  under  the  trees.  They  walked 
across  the  gardens  and  over  a  bridge  where  they 
stopped  a  moment  to  watch  the  swan  boats. 

"  Oh,  auntie,  can't  I,  can't  I  have  a  ride  behind  one 
of  those  big  birds  ?  See,  there  are  children  on  that 
one ! "  said  Margie,  as  the  boats  with  the  big  wooden 
swans  carved  in  front  paddled  near  the  bridge. 

"  "Why,  I  think  we  have  time,"  said  Aunt  Maria ; 
"  and  I  believe  I  would  like  to  go  myself."  And  they 
went  down  the  broad  stone  steps  which  led  from  the 
bridge  to  the  boat  landing.  Another  boat  was  about 
to  start  for  its  cruise  around  the  tiny  lake,  and  Aunt 
Maria  gave  the  boatman  ten  cents  and  she  and  Margie 
took  a  seat  right  behind  the  wooden  swans. 

"  Isn't    this  lovely  ? "  said  Margie  happily.     "  Is 


Marjories    ff^ay  105 

there  anything  at  Mrs.  Melchin's  house  as  nice  as 
this  ?  "  and  again  Aunt  Maria  nodded  her  head  and 
said, 

"  "Wait  and  see." 

"  Oh,  Aunt  Maria,  as  soon  as  Luke  gets  to  be  a  car- 
penter perhaps  he  can  make  a  boat  just  like  this,"  said 
Margie. 

"  I  have  no  doubt  that  he  could,"  agreed  Aunt 
Maria. 

"I  will  write  and  tell  him  all  about  it,"  said 
Margie. 

It  did  not  take  very  long  to  go  under  the  bridge, 
around  the  tiny  island  and  back  to  the  landing- 
place,  and  when  Margie  stepped  on  shore  she  looked 
back  admiringly  at  the  swan  boat.  As  they  started 
to  go  up  the  steps  to  the  bridge  Margie  noticed  two 
little  girls  sitting  on  one  of  the  steps  and  watching 
the  boats  as  they  started  out.  These  little  girls  were 
bare-headed,  and  one  of  them  had  bare  feet.  Their 
cotton  dresses  were  not  very  clean.  They  sat  there 
very  quietly,  and  when  Margie  and  her  aunt  came 
along  the  children  moved  nearer  the  water  to  make 
room. 

"  They  look  just  as  if  they  wanted  a  sail,"  whispered 
Margie. 


io6  Marjorie 


"Why,  so  they  do,"  said  Aunt  Maria;  and  she 
stopped  near  the  little  girls  and  said,  "  Have  you  ever 
had  a  sail  around  the  lake  ?  " 

The  larger  of  the  two  looked  up  and  answered 
quickly,  "  Oh,  no,  ma'am  !  Why,  it  costs  five  cents  !  " 

The  other  little  girl  said,  "  It  costs  ten  cents  for  two." 

"So  it  does,"  responded  Aunt  Maria;  "and  I  am 
going  to  pay  your  fares  so  you  can  enjoy  it  as  much 
as  this  little  girl  did." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  the  smaller  child,  turning  a  look  of  de- 
light upon  her  sister. 

"  It's  lovely,"  said  Margie,  as  the  two  girls  sprang 
up  and  stood  eagerly  waiting  to  see  what  would  hap- 
pen next. 

Aunt  Maria  went  back  to  the  boat  landing  and  saw 
the  children  started  on  their  unexpected  pleasure  trip, 
and  she  and  Margie  waved  their  hands  to  them  as  the 
boat  started  off. 

"  Didn't  they  look  happy  ?  "  said  Margie.  "  Some- 
way I  feel  glad,  too." 

"  Of  course  you  do  !  "  replied  Aunt  Maria.  "  Hap- 
piness is  contagious,  just  like  the  measles  !  " 

"  We  are  having  such  a  good  time  now,"  said  Margie. 
"  Will  we  have  any  better  time  when  we  get  to  Mrs. 
Melchin's  house  ?  " 


Marjories    U^ay  107 

And  again  Aunt  Maria  said,  "  "Wait  and  see !  " 

They  left  the  gardens  and  walked  up  a  long  hill, 
and  when  they  had  nearly  reached  the  top  Aunt 
Maria  stopped  in  front  of  a  tall  brick  house  and  rang 
the  bell.  Margie  stood  very  close  to  her  aunt.  She 
felt  as  if  something  remarkable  was  about  to  happen. 

The  door  was  opened  by  a  tall,  solemn-looking  man. 
Margie  wondered  if  this  was  Mr.  Melchin,  but  just 
then  her  aunt  said,  "  Good-morning,  Billings.  Will 
you  tell  Mrs.  Melchin  that  Miss  Wing  and  Miss 
Marjorie  have  come." 

"  Yes,  Miss  Wing ;  Mrs.  Melchin  is  expecting  you. 
She  said  you  were  to  step  right  up-stairs,  if  you  please, 
miss,  and  that  the  little  girl  was  to  wait  in  the  library 
a  moment,  if  you  please,  ma'am." 

"  Yery  well,  Billings,"  said  Miss  Wing,  and  Billings 
drew  back  some  heavy  curtains  at  the  end  of  the  hall. 

"Eun  in  there,  dear,  for  a  moment,"  said  Aunt 
Maria.  "Billings  will  tell  you  when  to  come  up- 
stairs." 

When  Marjorie  went  into  the  library  she  did  not 
see  any  one  there.  It  was  a  large  room  with  book 
shelves  all  around  the  walls.  At  the  farther  end  of 
the  room  was  a  large  bay-window,  and  Margie  walked 
toward  it  and  looked  out.  The  window  overlooked  a 


io8  Marjorie 


long  narrow  garden  where  several  trees  grew.  As 
Margie  stood  there  looking  out  she  heard  a  voice  say, 

"  Wh}^  good-morning  !  " 

Margie  looked  about,  thinking  some  one  had  come 
into  the  room.  She  did  not  see  any  one,  but  she  said 
"  Good-morning." 

"  Nice  morning  !  "  said  the  voice. 

"  Yes'm,"  said  Margie. 

"  Nice  morning,"  said  the  voice  again. 

Margie  decided  that  her  reply  had  not  been  heard, 
so  she  said  again  in  a  louder  tone, 

"  Yes'm,"  and  looked  around  the  room  more  care- 
fully. She  thought  perhaps  Mrs.  Melchin  had  come 
down-stairs  after  all,  but  as  she  could  not  see  any  one 
she  began  to  feel  a  little  frightened  and  went  near 
the  door  and  sat  down  in  a  big  leather-covered  chair. 

"  Sit  down,  sit  down,"  said  the  voice. 

"  Yes'm,"  replied  Margie.     "  I  have." 

"  Take  a  seat,  sit  down,"  continued  the  voice. 

"Oh,  dear,  I  guess  she's  deaf,"  thought  the  little 
girl,  and  trying  to  speak  very  distinctly,  she  said, 

"  Yes'm.     I  am  sitting  right  near  the  door." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  the  voice. 

Margie  began  to  wish  that  Aunt  Maria  would  come. 
She  thought  to  herself  that  it  was  not  very  polite  for 


Marjories    ff^ay  109 

this  person,  whoever  it  might  be,  not  to  sit  where  her 
visitor  could  see  her. 

Just  then  Billings  drew  back  the  curtains  and  said, 

"  You  are  to  step  up-stairs,  miss,  if  you  please,"  and 
Margie  followed  him  up  the  stairs  and  to  a  large  room 
directly  over  the  library. 

"This  is  Marjorie,"  said  Aunt  Maria,  coming  to 
meet  her  and  leading  her  toward  a  silver-haired  old 
lady  who  sat  in  a  high- backed  chair  near  a  small  table. 
Margie  noticed  that  Mrs.  Melchin's  eyes  were  very 
soft  and  black,  and  that  the  hand  she  extended  to  the 
little  girl  was  covered  with  shining  rings. 

"  Sit  down  near  me,  dear,"  said  the  old  lady,  after 
Aunt  Maria  had  taken  off  Margie's  hat.  "  I  wonder 
if  you  saw  the  parrot  in  the  library  ?  " 

"  Oh,"  said  Margie,  with  a  little  gasp.  "  "Was  that 
a  parrot  that  talked  to  me?"  She  was  so  sur- 
prised that  Aunt  Maria  and  Mrs.  Melchin  both 
laughed. 

"Yes,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Melchin.  "What  do 
you  think  of  an  old  lady  who  is  so  lonesome  that  she 
has  three  parrots  to  talk  to  her?  The  one  in  the 
library  is  named  '  Pickwick,'  the  one  in  the  dining- 
room  I  call  '  Nero,'  and  that  one  which  you  see  on  his 
perch  in  the  window  is  '  Beauty.' " 


no  Marjories    Way 

Margie  looked  toward  the  window  and  saw  a  beau- 
tiful bird  swinging  in  the  window. 

"  Oh,"  she  said. 

"  Go  and  talk  to  him  if  you  wish  to,"  said  Mrs. 
Melchin,  and  Margie  walked  slowly  toward  the  win- 
dow. But  "  Beauty "  would  not  talk,  so  Margie 
looked  about  the  room.  As  she  looked  she  remem- 
bered that  Aunt  Maria  had  said  that  Mrs.  Melchin 
had  a  beautiful  house,  and  the  little  girl  thought  that 
this  room  was  very  beautiful.  The  walls  were  cov- 
ered with  silk  hangings  which  looked  very  soft  and 
lovely.  Low  cabinets  stood  here  and  there,  and 
Margie  saw  that  the  one  nearest  to  where  she  was 
standing  was  full  of  beautifully  carved  tiny  elephants. 
The  largest  elephant  was  perhaps  an  inch  high,  and 
on  his  back  was  a  ball  of  crystal.  There  were  tiny  fig- 
ures on  the  backs  of  the  other  elephants,  and  as  Margie 
looked  at  them  she  wished  that  Luke  could  see  them. 

After  looking  at  these  Margie  went  to  the  next 
cabinet,  and  here  were  the  queerest  little  figures  of 
Chinamen  and  of  all  sorts  of  people.  None  of  them 
were  over  an  inch  high,  and  all  looked  so  real,  so 
much  like  tiny  living  people  that  Margie  said  a  little 
soft  "  oh,"  under  her  breath.  There  was  another 
cabinet  and  this  was  full  of  birds,  carved  just  as  the 


Marjorie 


\  \  \ 


elephants  and  people  were,  out  of  yellowish  ivory. 
There  were  parrots,  robins,  cranes,  eagles,  and  many 
birds  whose  names  Margie  did  not  know. 

Before  Margie  had  finished  looking  at  these  Mrs. 
Melchin  said,  "  Now,  my  dears,  we  will  have  lunch, 
and  Margie  shall  see  '  Nero.'  ': 

When  they  went  into  the  dining-room  "Nero" 
called  out,  "  All  ready  for  luncheon." 

"  Nero  "  was  not  as  handsome  a  bird  as  "  Beauty," 
and  Mrs.  Melchin  said  he  was  sometimes  cross. 

"That  is  why  I  keep  him  in  a  cage,"  she  said. 
"  '  Pickwick  '  doesn't  mind  having  his  head  smoothed 
occasionally,  and  '  Beauty  '  likes  a  little  attention  of 
that  sort,  but  '  Nero  '  snaps  that  sharp  beak  of  his  at 
every  one  who  goes  near  him." 

Margie  thought  she  had  never  had  such  a  nice 
luncheon  before.  There  were  small  melons,  filled  with 
little  pieces  of  ice  and  sprinkled  with  sugar.  There 
were  fat  little  chops  with  white  frilled  paper  around 
them,  and  there  was  creamed  potato,  with  red  toma- 
toes, and  crisp  bread  sticks.  After  these  were  eaten 
Billings  brought  in  ices  which  looked  like  ripe  peaches 
and  which  tasted  like  strawberries,  and  were  so  cool 
and  delicious  that  Margie  had  two  whole  peaches. 
And  with  these  were  all  sorts  of  small  cakes. 


112 


Marjorie 


While  they  were  eating  "  Nero  "  had  a  good  deal  to 
say. 

"  Coffee  ought  to  be  hot,"  he  said  several  times,  and 
made  a  queer  noise  which  sounded  like  the  rattling  of 
knives  and  forks  against  china. 

After  luncheon  while  Mrs.  Melchin  and  Aunt  Maria 
were  looking  at  a  new  set  of  china  Margie  went  close 
up  to  the  bird's  cage  and  said,  "  Nero  !  " 

"  Well,  well,"  said  the  bird  turning  its  head  on  one 
side  and  looking  at  her  with  its  bead-like  eyes. 

This  made  Margie  laugh,  and,  forgetting  that  Mrs. 
Melchin  had  said  that  "Nero"  did  not  like  people 
very  near  him,  she  went  close  to  his  cage  and  said, 
"  Nero  want  his  luncheon  ?  " 

"  No  coffee,"  said  "  Nero,"  and  Margie  laughed  with 
delight,  and  putting  her  hand  between  the  bars  of  his 
cage  tried  to  smooth  his  soft  plumage. 

In  an  instant  the  bird  had  made  a  snap  at  her  hand, 
and  although  Margie  drew  it  out  quickly  the  parrot  had 
made  an  ugly  nip  at  the  soft  flesh  and  Margie  screamed 
with  pain. 

Aunt  Maria  and  Mrs.  Melchin  hurried  to  her  side, 
and  Aunt  Maria  wrapped  her  handkerchief  around  the 
wounded  hand,  and  they  all  hurried  up-stairs,  where 
the  wound  was  carefully  bathed  and  bandaged. 


Marjories    Way  \  13 

Neither  Mrs.  Melchin  nor  Aunt  Maria  said  a  word  of 
blame  to  the  little  girl,  but  comforted  her  as  best  they 
could. 

Mrs.  Melchin  asked  Aunt  Maria  if  she  remembered 
the  doll  trunk. 

"  Indeed  I  do,"  said  Aunt  Maria.  "  I  was  hoping 
you  would  remember  it,"  continued  Aunt  Maria,  "  for 
I  really  think  it  would  make  me  young  again  to  see 
those  dolls." 

"  Why,  you  are  nothing  but  a  girl  now,"  said  Mrs. 
Melchin. 

Mrs.  Melchin  sent  for  Billings  and  told  him  to  bring 
down  the  trunk  which  stood  in  a  closet  in  the  blue 
room,  and  in  a  few  moments  he  came  back  with  a 
high,  narrow  trunk.  He  lifted  the  lid  and  took  out  a 
tray.  In  this  tray  was  a  doll  dressed  like  a  Chinese 
lady,  another  dressed  like  a  Norwegian  peasant,  and  a 
doll  in  a  Holland  costume.  As  Mrs.  Melchin  lifted 
each  doll  from  its  place  she  told  Margie  what  country 
it  came  from.  There  were  ten  dolls  in  all,  and  in 
looking  at  them  Margie  forgot  all  about  the  hurt 
hand.  Aunt  Maria  seemed  to  enjoy  them  as  much  as 
Margie  did. 

The  afternoon  passed  so  quickly  that  when  Aunt 
Maria  said  that  it  was  nearly  five  o'clock,  and  that 


ii4  Marjories   Way 

they  must  start  for  home,  Margie  could  hardly  realize 
that  the  da}7  was  gone.  She  told  Mrs.  Melchin  that 
she  had  had  a  lovely  time. 

"  All  but  *  Nero's '  bite,"  said  Mrs.  Melchin. 

"  But  you  told  me  he  did  not  like  to  have  people 
touch  him,"  said  Margie.  "  I  guess  it  was  my  fault." 

"  And  will  you  come  again  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Melchin. 

"  Oh,  yes,  indeed,"  said  Margie. 

As  they  went  down  the  hill  Margie  said, 

"  Oh,  Aunt  Maria,  didn't  we  have  the  nicest  time ! 
When  will  we  go  again  ?  " 

"  "Why,  we  will  go  again  just  as  soon  as  Mrs.  Melchin 
asks  us ! "  said  Aunt  Maria,  with  a  little  laugh. 


CHAPTEK  XII 

LUKE'8   LUCK 

GRANDMA  SAVOBY  arrived  at  the  plantation  the 
last  week  in  August.  Beside  her  trunk  she  brought  a 
good-sized  bundle,  and  when  it  was  taken  out  of  the 
carriage  she  said  to  Betty,  who  was  dancing  about 
on  the  porch,  "  There  is  our  surprise,  my  dear.  Two 
of  everything  except  shoes  and  stockings." 

Betty  had  thought  of  various  plans  to  prepare  Luke 
for  his  good  fortune,  but  none  of  her  plans  seemed 
just  the  thing.  Her  grandmother  finally  suggested 
that  Betty  ask  Luke  to  come  up  to  the  house  the  next 
afternoon. 

"I  will  tell  him  about  the  Clay  boys  and  their 
dogs,"  she  said,  "  and  then  I  can  bring  it  about  some 
way." 

"  You  mean  the  Clay  boys'  Sam  Barnard  ?  "  ques- 
tioned Betty  jumping  up  and  down  beside  her  grand- 
ma's chair. 

"  Oh,  yes,  their  Saint  Bernard,  old  Hero,  and  the 
two  new  dogs  that  you  haven't  seen.  They  are  twin 
dogs  just  as  the  boys  are  twins.  A  pedlar  had  them 

"5 


n6  Marjories 

on  his  wagon,  and  when  the  boys  saw  them  they  made 
a  bargain,  and  got  the  two  for  five  dollars.  The  boys 
think  everything  of  them  and  old  Hero  seems  to  like 
their  company." 

So  it  was  decided  that  Betty  should  go  over  to  Mrs. 
Philips'  about  the  time  Luke  came  for  his  lesson  and 
ask  him  to  go  home  with  her  and  hear  about  the  Clay 
boys'  dogs.  She  found  him  on  the  porch  with  Mrs. 
Philips.  Luke  had  just  received  Margie's  letter  telling 
about  the  punk,  and  was  discussing  it  with  Mrs.  Philips. 

"I  believe  I  know  just  where  to  get  a  lot  of  it; 
down  around  those  old  cedar  stumps  at  the  edge  of 
the  swamp.  It'll  save  lots  of  matches,  won't  it,  for  I 
can  keep  the  punk  just  smoldering,  same  as  Margie 
writes  about,  and  then  whenever  we  want  to  light  a 
fire  we  can  blow  it  up  into  a  blaze." 

Just  as  he  finished  Betty  came  dancing  up  the  path. 
"  My  grandma  has  come,"  said  Betty,  and  a  look  of 
understanding  passed  between  her  and  Mrs.  Philips, 
"and  she  says  the  Clay  boys  have  two  new  dogs, 
twins ;  they  bought  them  of  a  pedlar." 

Luke  folded  up  Margie's  letter. 

"  "When  did  they  buy  the  dogs  ? "  he  asked  anx- 
iously. 

"  Oh,  about  two  months  ago,"  said  Betty. 


Marjories   tf^ay  117 

"I'll  bet  it's  Spot  and  Stripe,"  exclaimed  Luke. 
"Did  your  grandma  say  what  kind  of  dogs  they 
were  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Betty ;  "  but  if  you  come  home  with  me 
she  will  tell  you  all  about  them." 

Luke  looked  at  Mrs.  Philips  for  permission,  as  his 
lessons  had  just  begun. 

"  "Why,  yes,"  she  said  in  response  to  his  look,  "  I 
think  you  can  miss  to-day's  lesson,  and  study  a  little 
longer  at  home." 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  I  will,"  said  Luke.  "  It  seems  as  if  I 
must  find  out  if  the  Clay  boys  have  bought  my 
dogs.  Oh,  I  hope  they  have,  for  Betty  says  they  like 
dogs." 

"  Yes,  just  the  same  as  you  do,  Luke,"  answered 
Betty  ;  and  the  two  hurried  away  along  the  path  by 
the  cotton-field  toward  the  Savory  plantation. 

"  I  never  thought  about  Spot  and  Stripe,"  said  Betty 
eagerly;  "but  buying  them  of  a  pedlar  looks  that 
way."  In  fact  Betty  had  almost  forgotten  her  "  sur- 
prise "  for  Luke  in  this  possible  discovery.  Grandma 
was  waiting  for  them  in  the  cool  sitting-room,  and  on 
the  little  round  table  beside  her  stood  a  glass  pitcher 
filled  with  lemonade,  and  beside  it  three  glasses. 

"  flow  do  you  do,  Luke  ?  "  she  said  pleasantly,  and 


ii8  Marjorie 


she  noticed  approvingly  the  boy's  clear  eyes  and  polite 
bow.  Both  the  children  were  very  warm,  and  when 
grandma  gave  them  each  a  glass  of  lemonade  they 
thought  nothing  had  ever  tasted  so  good. 

"  I  came  to  ask  about  the  Clay  boys'  dogs,"  said 
Luke.  "Are  they  brown  setter  dogs  with  white 
spots  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes,"  responded  Mrs.  Savory,  "  I  believe  they 
are." 

"  And  do  you  know  if  the  man  they  bought  them 
of  had  a  black  beard,  and  long  teeth,  and  a  big  nose, 
and  two  skinny  old  horses  ?  " 

Mrs.  Savory  laughed  a  little  at  Luke's  description. 

"  No,  I  don't  know  how  he  looked,  but  the  boys 
said  he  was  a  foreigner  and  that  his  horses  looked 
tired  and  half  fed  ;  I  know  George  Clay  said  he  would 
liked  to  have  bought  the  horses  also." 

Luke  settled  back  in  his  chair  and  smiled  a  little. 
"  I  believe  those  were  my  dogs,"  he  said,  and  then 
Grandma  Savory  listened  to  the  story  of  Spot  and 
Stripe,  and  heard  also  about  Buff,  who  had  gone  to 
Massachusetts  with  Margie. 

"  Do  you  feel  as  if  the  dogs  belonged  to  you  now, 
Luke  ?  "  she  asked,  when  he,  with  Betty's  assistance, 
had  finished  the  story. 


Marjories    IF  ay  119 

"  No,  ma'am,"  said  Luke  slowly,  "  I  don't  know  as 
I  do,  now  that  I  know  they  have  a  good  home  and 
that  the  Clay  boys  own  them.  If  the  old  pedlar  had 
kept  them,  or  sold  them  where  they  were  abused,  I 
should  have  tried  to  get  them  back ;  but  I  guess  the 
Clay  boys  can  do  a  sight  more  for  them  than  I 
could." 

Grandma  took  off  her  glasses  and  rubbed  them 
briskly,  and  then  looked  at  Luke  more  kindly  than 
ever. 

"  I  don't  know  how  the  Clay  boys  will  feel,"  she 
said.  "  You  know  they  are  real  Southern  boys,  Luke, 
just  as  you  are,  and  if  they  felt  the  dogs  were  yours, 
they  would  want  to  pay  you  for  them.  The  Clay  boys 
don't  have  very  much  money,  either.  The  five  dollars 
they  paid  the  pedlar,  I  happen  to  know,  took  all  the 
spending  money  they  will  have  for  three  months,"  and 
grandma  sighed  a  little  as  if  she  was  very  sorry  for  the 
Clay  boys. 

"  Well,  then  they  mustn't  know  a  thing  about  it," 
said  Luke.  "  They  didn't  know  the  dogs  were  stolen, 
and  they  needn't  know.  You  see  the  man  did  throw 
me  a  dollar — my  dad  has  it  now — and  so  perhaps  I 
haven't  any  right  to  them  anyway." 

But  grandma  still  looked  doubtful. 


120  Marjories    Way 

"  Let  me  see,"  she  said,  "  if  I  can't  think  of  some 
way  out  of  it.  I  think  that  you  and  George  Clay  are 
just  about  of  a  height ;  he  is  a  stouter  boy  than  you 
are." 

"  Yes'm,"  said  Luke,  wondering  what  this  had  to  do 
with  Spot  and  Stripe. 

"  Now  it  happens,"  continued  grandma,  "  that  Mrs. 
Clay  has  given  me  two  suits  of  clothes  that  are  a  tight 
fit  for  the  twins,  and  I  brought  them  down  here. 
Now  suppose  you  take  these  clothes  in  pay  for  the 
dogs.  Then  you  will  feel  satisfied,  and  then  if  the 
twins  ever  know  about  Spot  and  Stripe  they  will  feel 
that  they  really  belong  to  them."  And  grandma  again 
took  off  her  glasses,  and  waited. 

Luke  did  not  answer  for  a  moment.  Two  suits  of 
clothes,  he  thought — had  ever  such  good  fortune  come 
to  a  boy  who  had  already  earned  fifty  cents  just  by 
whittling  out  wooden  dogs  !  With  two  suits  of  clothes 
he  could  not  only  go  to  school,  but,  remembering  Mrs. 
Philips'  kindly  encouragement,  why  could  he  not  be- 
gin to  try  to  be  a  carpenter,  or  an  artist,  as  Margie  had 
always  wanted  him  to  be  ? 

It  was  so  long  before  Luke  answered  that  grandma 
and  Betty  began  to  be  a  little  anxious,  and  Betty's 
yellow  braid  danced  from  one  shoulder  to  the  other 


Marjories   If^ay  121 

as  she  kept  turning  her  head  first  toward  grandma, 
and  then  toward  Luke. 

When  he  did  answer,  his  voice  seemed  to  choke  a 
little  and  all  he  said  was,  "  Yes,  ma'am." 

"  Of  course,"  responded  Grandma  Savory.  "  Now 
you  and  the  Clay  boys  will  be  square  whatever  hap- 
pens. Betty,  do  you  think  you  could  bring  down 
that  bundle  on  top  of  my  trunk?  Luke  might  like 
to  take  the  things  now." 

"  Oh,  yes  indeed,"  said  Betty,  and  she  skipped  out 
of  the  room. 

"  Do  you  know  what  the  Clay  boys  call  the  dogs  ?  " 
asked  Luke. 

At  this  grandma  sighed  in  relief;  she  felt  that 
"  Betty's  surprise  "  was  a  real  success. 

"I  don't  think  the  names  they  have  as  suitable  as 
those  you  gave  them,"  she  answered.  "  One  dog  they 
have  named  '  Tramp,'  and  the  other  '  Boots.' " 

"  Oh,  dear,"  said  Luke,  moving  uneasily  in  his  chair. 
"  I  don't  see  how  they  could,  when  the  puppies  were 
so  silky  and  pretty." 

"I  don't  either,"  agreed  grandma  heartily;  "and 
now  that  the  dogs  are  really  and  properly  paid  for 
why  can't  I  tell  the  twins  all  about  it  ?  About  you, 


122 


Marjories 


I  mean,  and  have  them  call  the  dogs  'Spot'  and 
« Stripe,'  again  ?  " 

"Why,  I  should  like  to  have  you,"  said  Luke 
soberly,  picking  up  the  bundle  Betty  had  brought  in. 
He  stood  a  moment  looking  down  at  his  bare  feet,  and 
then  turning  toward  Grandma  Savory  he  said,  with 
his  freckled  cheeks  flushing,  "  You  think  the  dogs  are 
worth  it  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  I  do,"  she  responded ;  and  with  a  little 
bob  of  his  head,  Luke  said,  "  Good-bye,"  and  started 
for  home. 

When  he  got  about  half-way  through  the  pine 
woods,  near  where  he  had  once  sat  making  leather 
collars  for  Spot  and  Stripe,  he  put  down  his  bundle 
and  proceeded  to  unwrap  it.  He  took  out  a  neat  suit 
of  gray  cloth ;  with  it  was  a  cap  of  the  same  material. 
Under  this  lay  neatly  folded  a  suit  of  dark-blue  serge. 
Two  striped  linen  shirts  were  at  the  bottom  of  the 
bundle  and  several  white  linen  collars,  and  a  blue 
necktie.  Luke  gazed  at  these  treasures  in  admiration. 
As  he  sat  looking  at  them  he  recalled  his  one  term  of 
school,  and  his  own  humiliation  at  his  ragged  shirt 
and  trousers  and  bare  feet.  He  remembered  the 
silver  dollar  and  his  fifty  cents  now  with  satisfaction. 
"  It  will  help  buy  shoes  and  stockings,"  he  thought : 


Marjories   ff^ay  123 

"  and  with  these  clothes  of  course  I  can't  go  barefoot. 
I  must  get  some  work  so  as  to  earn  another  dollar," 
and  he  looked  again  at  his  new  possessions.  As  he 
looked  a  few  tears  crept  down  his  cheeks,  but  he 
brushed  them  quickly  away.  "  I  s'pose  it's  because  I 
never  had  nothing  before  that  I  feel  so  choked  up  and 
funny,"  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  tied  up  the  bundle 
and  started  for  home. 

"  I'll  bet  I  can  learn  right  fast  in  these  clothes,"  he 
thought,  a  little  smile  coming  about  his  mouth.  "I 
guess  Margie  would  be  real  pleased  to  see  these 
clothes.  I  wonder  what  carpenters  learn  first?  I 
must  ask  dad." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

SALUDA   SWAMP 

WHEN  Luke  received  Margie's  letter  telling  of  her 
wonderful  visit  to  Mrs.  Melchin,  and  about  the  carved 
elephants,  and  tiny  figures  of  men  and  birds,  he  re- 
solved that  he  would  try  to  make  some  tiny  wooden 
birds  for  Mrs.  Philips.  "I  guess  she  won't  keep 
them  in  glass  cases,"  he  thought,  "  but  perhaps  she'd 
like  to  have  them  ; "  and  the  boy  began  to  pass  many 
quiet  hours  closely  observing  the  mocking-birds,  which 
came  in  flocks  to  the  woods  near  the  swamp,  and  he 
watched  anxiously  for  a  sight  of  the  redbird ;  as  he 
wanted  the  birds  he  made  to  be  as  nearly  like  the  real 
birds  as  possible. 

Saluda  Swamp  was  considered  a  very  dangerous 
place.  There  were  small  hummocks  of  long  grass, 
old  stumps  half-hidden  by  the  water,  and  here  and 
there  smooth  stretches  of  brown  earth  that  looked 
like  solid  ground  but  which  were  really  dangerous 
quicksands.  Now  and  then  cattle  that  had  escaped 

from  their  pasture  had  wandered  into  this  swamp  and 

124 


Marjories   ff^ay  125 

had  been  swallowed  up,  and  children  were  always 
cautioned  to  keep  away  from  this  spot. 

It  was  a  favorite  place  with  the  birds.  The  red- 
birds  nested  in  some  of  the  dead  trees  that  bent  over 
one  side  of  the  swamp,  and  Luke  knew  that  here  he 
could  watch  them ;  and  one  afternoon  he  resolved  to 
go  very  near  the  swamp  and  see  if  he  could  not  get 
near  enough  to  one  of  these  birds  so  that  he  could  be 
sure  of  the  shape  of  its  wings,  and  of  its  manner  of 
perching  upon  a  bough. 

He  had  not  told  his  father  where  he  was  going,  as 
he  expected  to  be  at  home  long  before  supper-time. 
Near  the  edge  of  the  swamp  were  a  number  of  pine 
stumps,  half  hidden  by  the  tall  grass,  and  on  one  of 
these  Luke  sat  down  and  looked  around  for  his  red- 
bird.  As  he  looked  he  noticed  on  a  stump  a  short 
distance  from  him  a  brown  growth  which  he  imme- 
diately decided  must  be  punk,  and  he  resolved  to 
secure  it.  Between  the  place  where  he  sat  and  the 
stump  where  the  punk  grew  was  a  stretch  of  the 
smooth  brown  earth.  Luke  knew  what  it  was  very 
well,  but  was  sure  that  he  could  easily  jump  from  one 
stump  to  another. 

When  he  sprang  across  his  jump  carried  him  a  little 
too  far,  and  he  landed  in  the  water  on  the  further  side 


126  Marjories   ff^ay 

of  the  punk  stump.  But  as  he  was  barefoot  and  his 
trousers  were  rolled  up  above  his  knees,  he  did  not 
much  care,  and  crawled  up  to  the  big  roots  and  ex- 
amined what  he  had  thought  to  be  punk.  But  it 
proved  entirely  different  from  the  bit  Margie  had  sent 
him,  and  Luke  sat  down  on  the  stump  and  began  to 
think  more  about  getting  punk  than  he  did  about 
watching  for  birds.  lie  looked  closely  at  the  stumps 
near  at  hand,  but  could  not  see  any  trace  of  punk. 
Further  out  in  the  swamp,  surrounded  by  several 
hummocks  of  tall  grass,  was  a  little  group  of  dead 
trees,  and  Luke  felt  sure  that  on  these  he  would  find 
punk. 

But  how  was  he  to  get  to  them  ?  Between  the 
stump  where  he  sat  and  the  hummocks  of  grass  were 
several  stretches  of  water.  This  water  looked  shallow 
and  easy  to  wade  across,  but  Luke  knew  that  its  looks 
were  deceptive,  and  that  it  would  be  dangerous  for 
him  to  attempt  to  wade.  There  were  stumps  half 
covered  by  water,  and  Luke  thought  that  by  jumping 
from  one  stump  to  another  he  could  reach  the  bunch 
of  dead  trees  safely. 

"  I'm  sure  there's  punk  on  those  trees,"  thought  the 
boy,  "  and  I  could  get  a  lot  and  put  it  inside  my  shirt. 
I  guess  I  ought  to  be  smart  enough  to  make  a  jump 


Marjories    If^ay  127 

like  that,"  and  he  stood  up  on  his  stump  and  looked 
hopefully  toward  one  about  five  feet  distant,  and 
nearly  covered  with  water. 

Luke  made  the  jump  successfully,  but  the  rotten 
wood  crumbled  a  little  as  the  boy  came  solidly  down 
on  it.  Whenever  he  moved  his  feet  it  crumbled  more; 
and,  with  only  a  moment's  pause,  he  jumped  again, 
landing  this  time  on  a  ragged  stump  whose  sharp 
splinters  hurt  his  bare  feet.  But  he  found  comfort- 
able standing  room  and  looked  ahead. 

Two  more  jumps  and  he  could  reach  the  bunch  of 
trees.  They  were  both  longer  jumps  than  those  he 
had  taken,  but  Luke  felt  that  he  must  go  ahead.  He 
chuckled  a  little  to  himself  to  think  that  he  had  ever 
been  afraid  of  the  swamp. 

"  It  would  be  easy  enough  to  go  across,"  he  said. 
"  I'll  be  half  way  when  I  get  to  the  dead  trees."  But 
now  it  was  the  brown  treacherous  earth  instead  of 
water  over  which  he  must  jump.  Again  he  drew  his 
feet  together  and  sprang  forward,  and  this  time  he 
came  a  little  short  of  the  mark.  His  feet  struck  in 
the  soft  earth,  but  his  hands  caught  the  top  of  the 
stump  and  he  pulled  himself  quickly  up. 

"  Gee  !  "  he  said,  looking  back,  "  that's  worse  than 
water."  For  the  earth  had  seemed  to  grasp  at  his 


128  Marjorie 


feet  and  legs  as  if  to  pull  him  down,  and  it  had  taken 
all  his  strength  to  pull  himself  up  on  to  the  stump. 

"  One  more  now,"  and  again  the  boy  sprang  for- 
ward, this  time  for  one  of  the  solid-looking  grass 
hummocks  near  the  dead  trees. 

As  his  feet  touched  it  he  felt  the  hummock  sink  be- 
neath him.  In  a  moment  the  grass  was  partly  covered 
by  water  ;  Luke  heard  a  gurgling  sound,  and  felt  the 
water  about  his  ankles.  If  he  could  only  get  to  the 
next  hummock  he  would  be  within  reach  of  the  trees. 
With  a  desperate  effort  he  pulled  out  one  foot  and  set 
it  on  the  next  hummock  and  drew  the  other  after  him. 
But  this  hummock  began  to  sink  just  as  the  boy 
grasped  at  a  dead  branch  which  bent  toward  him. 

He  felt  it  bend  and  crack,  but  fortunately  it  did  not 
break,  and  Luke  was  able  to  pull  himself  to  a  secure 
footing  on  the  roots  of  the  dead  trees. 

"  G.ee,"  said  the  boy  again.  Even  yet  he  did  not 
realize  his  dangerous  position  and  began  to  look  about 
him  for  punk.  Sure  enough,  here  was  an  abundance 
of  it,  and  Luke  wished  that  Ferdinand  Webb  could  see 
how  plenty  punk  was  about  Margie's  old  home,  and 
how  easy  to  get. 

After  he  had  secured  as  much  as  he  could  carry  in- 
side his  cotton  shirt,  he  began  to  remember  about  the 


Marjories    If^ay  1 29 

redbirds.  One  or  two  had  flitted  by  him,  and  now, 
as  he  sat  down  on  the  big  root  of  an  old  tree  and 
leaned  back  against  the  half-decayed  trunk,  he  saw 
one  light  almost  within  his  reach. 

The  bird  tilted  its  pretty  head  as  if  wondering 
what  Luke  was ;  but  the  boy  kept  very  still,  and  the 
bird  evidently  decided  that  he  was  a  part  of  the  tree, 
and  so  did  not  fly  away,  but  sent  its  musical  notes 
out  upon  the  quiet  air. 

After  watching  the  bird  until  it  flew  away,  Luke 
began  to  think  of  getting  back  to  solid  ground.  As 
yet  he  had  not  felt  frightened,  but  now  as  he  looked 
at  the  grass  hummocks  and  realized  that  this  time  he 
must  make  a  jump  of  at  least  twelve  feet  in  order  to 
reach  the  first  stump,  he  knew  that  he  was  in  a 
dangerous  position. 

"  I  guess  it's  pretty  near  supper-time,"  he  thought 
with  a  little  feeling  of  homesickness.  "  I  s'pose  dad 
will  think  I'm  at  Betty's  and  won't  look  for  me." 
And  remembering  this  Luke  began  to  get  frightened. 
He  could  not  get  back  to  solid  land  without  help. 
The  swamp  was  nearly  a  mile  from  his  father's  house, 
and  even  when  Mr.  Sanders  missed  his  son  he  would 
not  think  of  coming  to  the  swamp  in  search  of  him. 
Luke  remembered  now  how  many  times  his  father 


130  Marjories    VFay 

had  warned  him  about  the  dangers  of  Saluda 
Swamp. 

"  I  guess  I'd  better  holler,"  thought  Luke,  and  as 
he  called  the  echo  sent  his  voice  back  in  so  many 
different  notes  that  it  sounded  as  if  a  score  of  voices 
were  calling  "  help  "  from  every  side  of  the  swamp. 

The  echoes  died  away,  and  the  frightened  boy 
began  to  remember  all  the  trouble  Saluda  Swamp  had 
caused.  There  was  the  spotted  calf  of  Mr.  Savory's 
which  had  strayed  into  the  quicksands  right  near  the 
shore,  and  had  been  swallowed  up.  And  a  cow  be- 
longing to  Mr.  Philips  had  started  out  to  cross  the 
swamp  and,  right  beyond  this  very  bunch  of  trees, 
had  sunk  out  of  sight  before  she  could  be  rescued. 

"  But  I'll  bet  dad  could  get  me  ashore  if  he  only 
knew  where  I  was,"  said  Luke,  and  standing  up  with 
his  arm  clasping  the  dead  tree  he  called  again. 

"  Pointer"  and  "  Jones  "  had  wandered  aimlessly 
about  that  afternoon.  Luke  had  apparently  not 
cared  for  their  company  when  he  started  off,  but 
the  afternoon  seemed  long  and  the  two  dogs  de- 
cided that  they  would  look  up  their  young  master. 
It  did  not  take  them  long  to  get  on  his  trail  through 
the  woods  to  the  swamp  and  just  as  Luke's  second 
call  came  echoing  back  to  him  the  boy  was  cheered 


Marjories    W^ay  131 

by  the  answering  barks  of  "  Jones  "  and  "  Pointer," 
and  could  see  them  standing  on  the  shore.  Evidently 
they  were  afraid  to  venture  out  to  him,  and  Luke  was 
afraid  to  call  them.  But  after  a  few  minutes'  running 
up  and  down  the  shore  "  Pointer  "  seemed  to  realize 
that  Luke  was  in  trouble,  and  came  leaping  toward 
him.  From  stump  to  stump  the.  dog  bounded  lightly 
and  surely,  and  landed  on  the  big  roots  beside 
Luke. 

"  Jones  "  remained  on  the  shore  for  a  few  minutes, 
and  then  disappeared  in  the  woods.  Luke  tried  to 
send  "Pointer"  back  to  shore,  but  the  dog  would 
not  go.  The  boy  tore  a  piece  from  the  sleeve  of  his 
ragged  shirt,  and  tied  it  to  the  leather  strap  around 
"  Pointer's  "  neck. 

"  Go  home,  sir,"  he  said,  hoping  that  in  some  way 
his  father  would  understand  that  he  was  in  trouble, 
and  that  "  Pointer  "  would  bring  Mr.  Sanders  back  to 
the  swamp.  But  "  Pointer "  would  not  budge,  and 
Luke  began  to  watch  the  sky  again,  and  wonder  how 
long  before  night  would  come. 

Mr.  Sanders  had  come  home  for  his  supper,  but 
neither  Luke  nor  the  dogs  were  at  home.  So  he  sat 
down  on  the  door-step  to  wait  for  them.  "While  he 
sat  there  "  Jones  "  came  running  toward  the  house, 


132  Marjories   Way 

and  seeing  Mr.  Sanders  on  the  steps  the  dog  stopped 
short  and  settled  comfortably  down  beside  him. 

"  Looks  as  if  you'd  been  down  to  that  pesky 
swamp,  '  Jones,' "  said  Mr.  Sanders,  noticing  the 
swamp  mud  on  the  dog's  legs. 

"  Where's  old  '  Pointer  '  ?  "  he  continued ;  "  have 
you  got  old  Pointer  into  some  scrape  and  come  off 
and  left  him  ?  I  b'lieve  you  have.  You  act  sneak- 
ing," said  Mr.  Sanders,  rising  slowly.  "Well,  I'm 
all  tired  out,  but  I  guess  '  Pointer '  is  worth  looking 
up.  Find  him !  "  he  concluded,  and  "  Jones  "  reluc- 
tantly started  back  toward  the  woods  with  Mr. 
Sanders  leisurely  following  him.  He  had  not  gone 
very  far  before  Luke's  call  for  help  came  to  his  ears, 
and  with  a  word  to  the  dog  he  began  to  run  toward 
the  swamp. 

"That  pesky  swamp,"  he  said  under  his  breath; 
"  but  Luke  knows  about  it.  I  suppose  old  '  Pointer  ' 
has  got  into  the  quicksands  and  the  boy  can't  get 
him  out." 

It  did  not  take  Mr.  Sanders  very  long  to  reach  the 
swamp  and  to  realize  Luke's  danger. 

"  Don't  you  try  to  come  out  here,  dad,"  called 
Luke.  "  You  just  step  back  to  the  pasture  fence 
and  bring  the  top  rail  and  I'll  tell  you  what  to  do." 


Marjories    IF' ay  133 

Mr.  Sanders  promptly  obeyed,  and  with  great 
caution  got  the  rail  within  Luke's  reach.  It  did  not 
take  the  boy  long  to  fix  one  end  of  it  firmly  on  the 
roots,  and  the  other  on  a  solid  stump,  and  then  make 
his  way  to  shore,  followed  by  "  Pointer." 

"  Haven't  I  ever  told  you  to  keep  clear  of  that 
swamp  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Sanders,  as  Luke  sprang  on  to 
solid  ground  by  his  father's  side. 

"  Yes,  dad,"  said  Luke,  reaching  up  and  clasping  his 
father's  arm. 

"  Well,  you  ought  not  to  have  gone  way  out  there, 
even  if  '  Pointer '  couldn't  get  ashore,"  said  Mr. 
Sanders,  more  mildly. 

"  I  didn't  go  out  after  '  Pointer,'  dad  ;  he  came  out 
after  me.  I  went  after  punk.  The  stuff  Margie 
wrote  about.  I  got  a  lot  of  it." 

"  Luke,"  said  Mr.  Sanders,  and  his  voice  trembled 
a  little,  "  do  you  know  enough  now  to  keep  away 
from  the  swamp  ?  Wa'n't  you  scared  ?  " 

"  Yes,  dad,"  replied  the  boy.  "  I  guess  I  shall  keep 
away  after  this." 

As  the  father  and  son  came  in  sight  of  home  Luke 
leaned  a  little  heavily  against  his  father  and  Mr. 
Sanders  put  his  arm  about  him. 


134  Marjories    Way 

"  I'll  see  to  supper  right  away,"  he  said,  as  Luke  sat 
down  on  the  step.     The  dogs  sat  down  close  to  Luke. 
"  Those  are  first-rate  dogs,  Luke,"  said  Mr.  Sanders. 
"  Yes,  dad,"  said  Luke. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

A   PIECE   OF   PUNK 

WHEN  the  time  came  for  Betty  to  start  for  Colum- 
bia with  her  grandma  she  felt  very  dull  and  almost 
homesick,  even  at  the  thought  of  going  so  far  away. 
Her  mother  and  father  reminded  her  of  how  brave 
Marjorie  had  been,  and  Luke  presented  her  with  a 
wooden  box  which  he  had  made  himself,  with 
"  BETTY  "  carved  on  the  lid,  but  even  this  proved  of 
small  comfort.  At  last  her  grandmother  asked  her  if 
she  would  not  like  to  have  Luke  ride  in  to  Columbia 
with  them. 

"  He  could  make  the  acquaintance  of  the  Clay 
boys,  and  would  be  company  for  your  father  on  the 
drive  home,"  she  said. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  Betty  agreed  eagerly.  So  Luke  was  in- 
vited to  go  to  Columbia  for  a  day's  visit,  and  on  the 
morning  decided  upon  he  presented  himself  at  the 
Savory  plantation  all  ready  to  start.  He  had  on  the 
gray  suit  and  cap,  his  father  had  purchased  him  some 
stout  shoes,  and  Luke  looked  and  felt,  as  he  expressed 
it, "  like  folks." 

135 


136  Marjories 

It  seemed  a  very  wonderful  thing  to  him  that  he 
should  really  be  going  to  Columbia.  When  they 
drove  by  Mr.  Sanders'  shop  Luke  looked  eagerly  for 
a  sight  of  his  father.  Mr.  Sanders  was  standing  in 
the  door,  and  waved  his  hand  as  the  carriage  passed, 
and  Luke  and  Betty  waved  in  return. 

The  drive  was  very  pleasant.  Most  of  the  way  the 
road  was  shaded  by  big  trees  and  from  the  occasional 
hilltops  they  had  glimpses  of  the  river  ;  here  and  there 
were  fields  of  cotton,  and  negroes  gathering  the  fleecy 
crop.  Grandma  pointed  out  different  plantations 
where  she  had  visited  as  a  girl,  and  Mr.  Savory 
showed  Luke  where  a  body  of  Northern  troops  had 
once  camped.  After  a  drive  of  two  hours  they  were 
nearly  in  sight  of  the  city,  and  as  they  drove  by  the 
great  cotton  mills  Luke  looked  at  them  in  wonder. 
When  they  turned  into  the  street  leading  by  the  State 
House  Mr.  Savory  drove  slowly  that  Luke  might  have 
a  good  look  at  the  building.  Grandma  Savory  leaned 
out  and  looked  at  it  too. 

"  I  could  wish  that  the  grounds  were  more  neatly 
kept,"  she  said.  But  to  Luke  everything  was  new  and 
wonderful.  Betty  had  often  visited  Columbia,  and 
now  felt  very  proud  to  be  able  to  tell  Luke  the  names 
of  the  streets,  and  of  some  of  the  public  buildings. 


Marjories    Way  137 

Luke  sat  up  very  straight,  and  while  he  looked  and 
admired  he  was  thinking  of  the  dollar  and  a  half 
which  was  safe  in  his  pocket  and  with  which  he  had 
determined  to  buy  a  present  for  Mrs.  Philips. 

"  Do  you  suppose  Ashley  is  anything  like  this  ?  "  he 
said,  turning  to  Betty. 

"  No,  indeed,"  said  Betty.  "  "Why,  Luke,  this  is  a 
city,  the  capital  of  South  Carolina,  and  Ashley  is  just 
a  little  Massachusetts  village." 

"  Margie  thinks  Ashley  is  a  right  fine  place,"  con- 
tinued Luke. 

"  Well,"  explained  Betty, "  that  is  because  her  Aunt 
Maria  lives  there." 

Luke  thought  that  might  be  the  reason,  and  turned 
his  admiring  eyes  toward  Grandma  Savory's  house 
which  Betty  pointed  out. 

It  was  of  red  brick,  and  was  approached  by  a  drive- 
way of  smooth  gravel.  "When  the  carriage  stopped 
the  big  front  door  opened,  and  an  old  negro  man  stood 
bowing  and  smiling. 

"  "Well,  Washington,  here  I  am  home  again.  And 
here  is  Miss  Betty,  and  her  father,  and  Master  Luke 
Sanders  come  to  visit  us." 

"  'Deed,  ahse  right  glad  yo'se  got  home,  missy,"  said 
the  old  man,  bowing  and  smiling  at  each  of  the 


138  Marjories 

guests.  "Ah'll  just  take  the  bosses  to  tke  stable. 
Aunt  Cassy'll  be  pleased  to  bave  company,"  be  added, 
and  as  be  spoke  Aunt  Gassy  appeared.  Sbe  wore  a 
turban,  after  tbe  manner  of  old  Soutbern  mammies, 
and  a  neat  blue  gingbam  gown  witb  a  big  wbite  apron. 
Sbe  smiled  radiantly  upon  ber  mistress,  and  patted 
Betty  on  tbe  sboulder. 

"  Bress  de  Lawd,  we'se  gwine  to  have  young  folks 
'bout  again,"  she  said.  "  Ain't  had  no  young  folks 
since  you  lef  home,  Massa  Philip,"  she  added,  nodding 
to  Mr.  Savory. 

"  That's  where  the  Clay  boys  live,"  said  Betty, 
pointing  across  the  smooth  green  lawn  to  a  house  very 
much  like  Grandma  Savory's.  "  I  wonder  if  grandma 
won't  let  us  go  over.  I'll  go  and  see." 

But  grandma  said  that  they  had  better  wait  until 
after  luncheon ;  then  she  would  go  over  witb  them. 
As  it  would  be  an  hour  before  lunch  time  Mr.  Savory 
said  he  would  take  Luke  and  Betty  for  a  walk. 

"  Shall  we  go  near  stores  ? "  asked  Luke,  as  they 
started  out. 

"  Why,  yes,"  said  Mr.  Savory ;  "  have  you  an  errand 
to  do?" 

"  I  wanted  to  buy  Mrs.  Philips  a  present,"  explained 
Luke.  "  It's  money  that  boy  in  Ashley  paid  me  for 


Marjories    ff^ay  139 

whittling  out  two  dogs,  and  the  dollar  the  man  threw 
me  for  Spot  and  Stripe.  It's  a  dollar  and  a  half.  I 
ought  to  get  something  nice  for  that,  hadn't  I  ?  "  he 
asked. 

Mr.  Savory  looked  thoughtful.  "What  did  you 
want  to  buy  ?  "  he  asked. 

Luke  looked  a  little  embarrassed.  "  I  thought  I 
would  buy  her  a  white  dress,"  he  said.  "  I  heard  her 
say  she  wished  she  had  a  white  dress." 

Mr.  Savory  nodded  understandingly,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  they  entered  a  large  store,  where  Mr.  Savory 
asked  to  see  white  dress  materials.  After  some  con- 
sultation with  the  clerk  as  to  the  number  of  yards 
needed,  Luke  selected  a  white  dimity,  and  when  he 
had  paid  for  ten  yards,  which  the  clerk  assured  him 
was  an  ample  pattern,  he  had  twenty-five  cents  left. 
He  took  the  neat  parcel  and  carried  it  very  carefully. 

"When  they  returned  from  their  walk  Grandma 
Savory  was  sitting  on  the  piazza,  and  near  her  stood 
two  boys  so  exactly  alike  that  Luke  knew  they  must 
be  the  twins ;  and  playing  in  front  of  the  house  were 
two  brown  setter  dogs. 

"  Spot,  Spot,"  called  Luke,  and  instantly  one  of  the 
dogs  ran  toward  him,  while  the  other  followed  with 
yelps  of  recognition. 


140  Marjories 


Grandma  had  evidently  explained  the  whole  affair 
to  the  twins,  and  the  three  boys  soon  became  friendly. 
Luke  told  the  Clay  boys  about  his  adventure  in  the 
swamp  after  the  punk  the  day  before.  He  had  a  piece 
in  his  pocket,  which  the  boys  examined  with  much  in- 
terest. Mr.  Savory  looked  at  it  also. 

"  Kather  bad  stuff  to  leave  near  a  cotton  gin,"  he 
said,  with  a  little  laugh.  "  Where  did  you  leave  yours, 
Luke?" 

"  Oh,  mine  is  all  right,  sir,"  responded  the  boy.  "  It 
is  smoldering,  but  I  left  it  all  covered  up  and  in  a  safe 
place  in  the  shed." 

Mr.  Savory  knew  that  Luke  was  not  a  careless  boy, 
and  gave  the  matter  no  further  thought.  The  Clay 
boys  did  not  seem  to  notice  that  Luke  wore  an  old  suit 
of  George's.  In  fact  Grandma  Savory  had  spoken  to 
them  as  if  she  thought  it  rather  generous  of  Luke  to 
let  them  keep  the  puppies,  and  the  twins  thought  their 
new  friend  was  a  fine  sort  of  boy. 

When  the  time  came  for  Mr.  Savory  and  Luke  to 
start  for  home  Betty  bade  them  good-bye  quite  cheer- 
fully. "  I  shall  have  as  much  to  write  about  as 
Margie  has,"  she  called  after  them. 

Luke  was  very  quiet  on  the  drive  home.  He  was 
thinking  about  the  white  dress  he  had  purchased 


Marjories   Jf^ay  141 

for  Mrs.  Philips,  and  wondering  if  she  would  like 
it. 

As  they  came  near  the  Philips  plantation  Mr. 
Savory  noticed  srnoke  rising  above  the  tree-tops. 
"  What's  that,  Luke  ? "  he  exclaimed  in  a  startled 
tone,  pointing  with  his  whip  toward  the  smoke  and 
urging  his  horses  into  a  faster  pace. 

Luke  leaned  forward  and  looked  anxiously  toward 
the  slow-rising  smoke. 

The  horses  were  now  set  into  a  run,  and  in  a  few 
moments  they  were  in  sight  of  the  blacksmith-shop, 
and  Luke  called  out  in  dismay,  "Oh,  our  house  is 
burning  up,  it's  burning  up ! " 

He  would  have  sprung  from  the  carriage,  but  a  word 
from  Mr.  Savory  prevented  him.  Mr.  Savory  drove 
beyond  the  blacksmith  shop,  where  the  horses  would 
not  be  frightened  by  the  flames,  and  he  and  Luke 
hurried  back  to  the  burning  cabin. 

Mr.  Sanders  was  rushing  in  and  out  of  the  little 
house,  bringing  out  now  a  table  and  again  a  chair  or 
ungainly  bundle,  and  Luke  ran  forward  to  help  him. 

"  Keep  away,  boy,"  called  Mr.  Sanders.  "  Every- 
thing's out  and  you'll  only  get  burned.  The  cabin's 
got  to  go  ! "  Mr.  Savory  had  realized  at  a  glance  that 
the  fire  had  gained  too  great  a  headway  to  save  the 


142  Marjorie 


house,  and  he  put  a  restraining  hand  on  the  shoulder 
of  the  trembling  boy. 

In  a  moment  Mr.  Sanders,  blackened  with  smoke 
and  with  arms  and  hands  that  showed  how  good  a 
fight  he  had  made  for  his  home,  came  over  and  sank 
down  on  the  grass  near  his  son,  and  Luke  slipped  to 
his  knees  beside  him. 

"  That  punk  of  yourn,  Luke,"  drawled  Mr.  Sanders, 
pulling  down  a  torn  shirt  sleeve,  "  is  'bout  the  best 
stuff  for  starting  a  real  good  lively  fire  that  you'll  find 
in  a  month  of  Sundays." 

"Oh,  father,  was  it  the  punk?  Margie  said  it 
would  smolder  for  days." 

"  P'raps  'twould,  son,  if  'twas  let  alone  ;  but  I  took 
out  a  little  of  the  stuff  to  start  up  the  kitchen  fire,  and 
then  I  stepped  over  to  the  shop,  and  I  vummy,  if,  be- 
fore I  could  get  back,  the  whole  shed  wasn't  in  a  blaze." 

"  Oh,  father,  you  didn't  cover  the  punk  up,"  said 
Luke. 

"  Maybe  I  didn't,  son,"  responded  Mr.  Sanders. 

Tears  were  streaming  down  Luke's  face,  and  his 
father  tried  to  comfort  him. 

"  Tour  clo'es  and  books  and  the  little  wooden  im- 
ages you  whittled  are  all  wrapped  up  in  the  checked 
quilt,  Luke,"  he  said. 


Marjories    W^ay  143 

"Kind  of  hard  luck,  ain't  it?"  he  continued,  turn- 
ing to  Mr.  Savory.  "It  do'os  seem  as  if  I  couldn't 
get  no  kind  of  a  start.  Luke  and  me'll  have  to  camp 
out  for  a  spell." 

Just  then  Aunt  Cora,  followed  by  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Philips  came  hurrying  down  the  road,  and  in  a  mo- 
ment a  group  from  the  Savory  plantation  joined  them. 
There  were  many  offers  of  neighborly  hospitality,  and 
Mr.  Sanders  agreed  that  he  and  Luke  would  go  home 
with  Mrs.  Philips.  Luke  had  fled  to  the  back  of  the 
shop,  and  was  lying  flat  on  his  face,  regardless  of  the 
gray  suit,  crying  bitterly.  The  only  home  he  had 
ever  known  was  a  smoldering  ruin,  and  he  felt  that 
he  was  to  blame.  He  wished  Margie  had  never  writ- 
ten him  about  the  punk,  and  above  all  he  wished  that 
he  had  not  gone  to  Columbia  that  day. 

While  he  lay  there  miserable  and  unhappy,  he  felt 
a  hand  touch  his  rough  hair  and  smooth  it  gently,  and 
he  realized  that  Mrs.  Philips  was  close  beside  him. 
He  remembered  the  present  he  had  bought  for  her, 
and  how  happy  he  had  expected  to  be  in  her  pleasure, 
and  now  he  knew  he  could  not  be  happy  again.  But 
his  sobs  ceased,  and  he  waited  for  his  friend  to  speak. 

"  Wasn't  it  fortunate  that  the  fire  did  not  come  in 
the  night,  Luke  ?  "  she  said.  "  Now  neither  you  nor 


144  Marjories 

your  father  are  hurt,  and  most  of  your  things  are 
saved;  and  Mr.  Philips  has  thought  of  a  fine  plan 
for  a  new  home  for  you  and  your  father.  He  is 
telling  Mr.  Sanders  about  it  now." 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  Luke,  moving  his  head  so  that 
he  could  see  Mrs.  Philips. 

"  Well,  you  know  our  old  carriage-house  that  stands 
below  the  stable  ?  Mr.  Philips  says  that  you  and  your 
father  can  easily  make  that  into  a  comfortable  house, 
and  move  your  things  right  in." 

Luke  was  sitting  up  by  this  time  and  listening 
eagerly.  The  carriage-house  was  a  much  larger  and 
better  building  than  the  little  cabin  where  Luke  and 
his  father  had  lived. 

"  We  shall  be  very  glad  to  have  you  and  your  father 
live  there,"  continued  Mrs.  Philips ;  "  for  we  are  going 
to  visit  Margie  and  Aunt  Maria  this  fall,  and  there 
will  be  a  good  deal  of  work  for  you  and  your  father 
to  do  about  the  plantation.  Now,  Luke,  we  must  go 
and  talk  to  your  father." 

Luke  got  up  feeling  a  little  ashamed  of  his  tears, 
which  Mrs.  Philips  had  not  seemed  to  notice.  He  re- 
membered the  package  in  Mr.  Savory's  carriage,  and 
ran  to  get  it,  while  Mrs.  Philips  joined  the  little  group 
near  the  blacksmith  shop.  Mr.  Sanders  was  greatly 


Marjories   W^ay  145 

encouraged  by  his  neighbors'  kindness,  and  when  Luke 
came  back  with  his  bundle  he  found  his  father  talking 
briskly  with  Mr.  Philips  about  the  changes  that  would 
have  to  be  made  in  the  carriage-house. 

The  boy  stood  very  close  to  Mrs.  Philips,  and  when 
she  turned  to  him  with  a  smile,  he  smiled  back  and 
said,  "  I  bought  you  a  present,  Mrs.  Philips,"  and  held 
the  package  toward  her. 

She  took  it,  and  said,  "Now,  what  is  it,  Luke? 
You  must  tell  me,  or  I  shall  have  to  open  it  right 
here." 

Luke  smiled  again.  "  It's  something  you  wanted," 
he  said,  very  low,  so  that  the  others  would  not  hear. 
"  It's  a  white  dress." 


CHAPTER  XV 

JUST  LIKE  AUNT   MARIA 

FROM  a  wabbly  puppy  with  long  legs  Buff  had 
grown  into  a  very  well-behaved  dog.  He  had  become 
quite  a  favorite  with  Aunt  Maria,  and  often  accompan- 
ied her  on  her  walks  about  the  village.  Sometimes 
he  went  on  excursions  to  the  woods  or  the  river  with 
Ferdinand,  and  these  were  the  days  when  he  came 
home  wet  and  muddy ;  for  Ferdinand  would  send  him 
into  the  river  after  sticks,  which  Buff  thought  was 
great  fun. 

One  day  Margie,  Ada,  and  Adrienne  Wilson  with 
her  little  sister  Lucy,  had  gone  for  a  walk  to  the  river. 
Buff  was  with  them,  and  he  and  little  Lucy  became 
friends  at  once  and  played  together  on  the  river-bank 
while  Ada  and  Margie  and  Adrienne  gathered  ferns 
and  goldenrod.  Lucy  was  only  four  years  old,  and 
she  thought  the  shining  water  with  its  reflections  of 
the  overhanging  trees  very  pretty  and  attractive. 
She  would  reach  out  after  the  branches  which  seemed 
to  be  growing  in  the  water,  and  laugh  delightedly 
when  they  seemed  to  move  away  from  her.  The 

older  girls  meant  to  take  great  care  of  her,  and  cau- 

146 


Marjories   Way  147 

tioned  her  not  to  go  too  near  the  water ;  but  while 
Adrienne  was  arranging  a  wreath  on  Margie's  head 
they  forgot  Lucy  for  a  moment.  It  was  just  then 
that  a  dancing  little  branch  beckoned  Lucy  most  en- 
ticingly, and  reaching  after  it  she  lost  her  balance  and 
fell  into  the  water ! 

There  was  a  strong  current  near  the  shore  and  in 
an  instant  Lucy  was  carried  beyond  the  reach  of  the 
terrified  little  girls  who,  hearing  her  scream  of  fright, 
ran  down  the  bank  and  tried  their  best  to  get  hold  of 
Lucy's  dress.  Adrienne  waded  in  after  her  little 
sister,  greatly  to  Margie's  alarm,  who  feared  both 
her  playmates  would  be  swept  away.  "Buff,  Buff," 
she  screamed,  and  at  her  call  Buff  bounded  over  the 
bank  into  the  stream  and  in  a  moment  had  grabbed 
the  little  girl  by  her  skirts  and  was  swimming  rapidly 
toward  the  shore.  Adrienne  waded  back  to  dry 
land  and  she  and  Margie,  the  moment  Buff  landed, 
grasped  the  screaming  Lucy,  and  after  assuring  them- 
selves that  she  was  really  safe,  although  very  wet 
and  frightened  they  hurried  her  toward  home. 
Adrienne  was  nearly  in  tears  when  she  realized 
what  a  narrow  escape  her  little  sister  had,  and 
Ada  and  Margie  praised  Buff  and  pitied  Lucy  all 
the  way  home. 


Marjories   Way 


"  Mother  will  want  to  buy  Buff,  I  know  she  will," 
said  Adrienne,  as  they  reached  the  "Wilsons'  house. 

"  Oh,  I  couldn't  sell  him,"  said  Margie.  "  He  was 
given  to  me,  and  I  couldn't  sell  him  even  if  he  did 
save  Lucy's  life.  Could  I,  Ada  ?  " 

"  Wouldn't  you  if  my  mother  paid  you  a  lot  of 
money  ?  "  questioned  Adrienne,  anxiously.  "  You  see 
if  Buff  was  our  dog  then  we  would  feel  so  safe  about 
Lucy,"  urged  Adrienne ;  but  even  this  did  not  impress 


After  this  Buff  became  the  favorite  of  the  village. 
People  would  stop  on  the  street  to  speak  to  him,  and 
he  was  pointed  out  as  the  dog  that  had  saved  the 
little  "Wilson  girl's  life.  Mr.  "Wilson  gave  him  a 
beautiful  collar  with  "  Buff  "  engraved  upon  it,  and 
everybody  had  a  good  word  for  the  dog. 

That  is,  everybody  except  little  Lucy  "Wilson,  who 
whenever  she  saw  him  coming  would  scream  with 
fright.  Some  way  the  little  girl  connected  her  fall 
into  the  water,  the  being  grabbed  and  pulled  roughly 
out  on  shore,  with  Buff.  And  although  Mrs.  "Wilson 
said  that  when  Lucy  was  old  enough  to  understand 
that  she  would  not  be  afraid  but  would  love  Buff 
dearly,  both  Margie  and  Ferdinand  felt  that  it  was 
very  ungrateful  of  Lucy  to  scream  at  the  sight  of 


Marjories    Jf^ay  149 

her  preserver.  Margie  had  asked  Ferdinand's  advice 
in  regard  to  selling  Buff  to  the  Wilsons. 

"  I  don't  want  to  sell  him  because  Betty  gave  him 
to  me,"  she  said,  "  and  because  my  Aunt  Maria  really 
likes  him  ;  but  Adrienne  says  that  because  he  saved 
Lucy's  life  they  ought  to  buy  him." 

Ferdinand  looked  very  serious  for  a  moment.  "  I 
s'pose  if  I  had  been  there  I  should  have  sprung  right 
in  and  saved  Lucy  myself,  and  then  do  you  s'pose  my 
mother  would  have  sold  me  to  the  Wilsons  ?  I  guess 
not!" 

"  Of  course  she  wouldn't,"  agreed  Margie  eagerly. 

"  Well,"  said  Ferdinand,  "  it's  just  the  same  thing." 

"So  it  is,"  said  Margie.  "I  think  you  are  awful 
smart,  Ferdinand.  I  guess  you  could  be  an  artist  when 
you  grow  up  if  you  wanted  to.  Having  such  a  nice 
name  will  be  a  great  help  to  you." 

"  It's  a  good  enough  name,  I  s'pose,"  said  Ferdinand, 
somewhat  doubtfully.  He  secretly  scorned  his  name, 
and  had  resolved  when  he  was  a  man  to  be  called 
"  Webb,"  as  his  father  was  now. 

"  What  do  you  want  everybody  to  be  artists  for  ?  " 
he  questioned.  "  I'd  rather  be  a  motor-man  or  an  ex- 
plorer." 

Margie  looked  at  him  soberly.     "  I  don't  know  as 


150  Marjories   Jf^ay 

I  care  much  about  your  being  an  artist,"  she  said ; 
"  and  I've  about  given  up  Luke  being  an  artist,  but 
it's  dreadful  hard,  when  I  taught  him.  to  read  and  ex- 
pected he  would  be  just  like  Mr.  Arthur  Field." 

"  Oh,  I  know  Mr.  Field  ;  he  walks  with  a  crutch," 
said  Ferdinand.  Margie  nodded. 

"  Luke  isn't  lame,  of  course,"  she  said ;  "  but  you 
don't  have  to  be  lame  to  be  an  artist." 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Philips  were  to  arrive  in  Ashley  late 
in  October.  They  wrote  of  Mr.  Field's  arrival  just 
after  the  Sanders'  cabin  was  burned,  and  said  that 
the  artist  would  come  north  with  them.  Marjorie 
felt  that  she  had  a  good  deal  to  look  forward  to,  for 
she  was  very  anxious  to  see  Mr.  Field  as  well  as  her 
father  and  mother. 

She  watched  Aunt  Maria  more  closely  than  ever, 
and  Ada  frequently  encouraged  her  by  telling  her 
that  she  walked  just  like  her  Aunt  Maria.  "And  I 
think  you  smile  like  her,  too,"  she  would  add  hope- 
fully. 

"  Oh,  Ada,  do  you  ?  Wouldn't  it  be  lovely  if  when 
my  mother  comes  she  finds  me  looking  'most  exactly 
like  Aunt  Maria,"  exclaimed  Margie. 

"Well,  of  course  you  couldn't  look  exactly  like 
her,"  responded  Ada. 


Marjories    Jf^ay  151 

"  Why  couldn't  I  ?  I  am  'most  as  tall  as  she  is ;  and 
I  have  brown  eyes,  and  she  has  brown  eyes  ;  and  my 
hair  is  dark  brown  and  so  is  Aunt  Maria's.  I  don't 
see  why  I  can't  look  exactly  like  her  if  I  try.  I  guess 
if  I  don't  'twill  be  my  own  fault,  and  a  dreadful  dis- 
appointment to  my  mother  and  father." 

"  They  prob'ly  didn't  expect  you  to  look  like  her  so 
soon,"  said  Ada.  "  They  prob'ly  meant  when  you 
was  older,  that  it  would  come  more  gradually." 

"  Then  they  would  be  real  surprised  and  pleased  if 
when  they  come  they  find  I  have  improved  my  time 
and  looked  like  her  so  much  sooner  than  they  ex- 
pected," urged  Margie.  "  And  then  they  would  want 
me  to  go  right  home  with  them,  because  that  is  what 
they  sent  me  up  here  for,  to  grow  into  a  woman  just 
like  Aunt  Maria." 

"  I  wouldn't  want  you  to  go  home,"  said  Ada. 

"  Well,"  responded  Margie  thoughtfully,  "  if  mother 
and  father  would  bring  Luke  and  Betty  and  Aunt 
Cora,  and  '  Uncle,'  I'd  like  to  stay.  Because  if  I  don't 
see  Aunt  Maria  right  along  I  may  forget  to  be  just 
like  her." 

The  two  little  girls  were  sitting  on  Miss  Wing's  front 
steps.  They  had  their  dolls  and  their  work-baskets 

1.  •/ 

and  were  very  busy  making  new  gowns  for  Rosamund 


152  Marjories 


Antoinette,  and  for  Ada's  doll,  Polly.  Near  to  the 
little  girls  sat  Sarah  Mullins  watching  them  sleep- 
ily, while  Buff  lay  on  the  brick  walk  in  the  sun- 
shine. 

The  maples  were  turning  red,  and  the  leaves  on  the 
elms  were  yellow,  but  the  neat  flower-beds  were  no 
longer  filled  with  blossoming  plants.  The  day  was 
warm  and  bright,  and  when  Margie  realized  that  in 
just  one  month  more  her  mother  and  father  would  be 
in  Ashley  she  could  hardly  keep  still  long  enough  to 
try  on  Rosamund  Antoinette's  pink  gown. 

Ada  had  been  silent  for  a  moment  and  then  she 
looked  at  Margie,  and  said,  "  I  have  thought  of  two 
ways,  Margie,  that  you  could  be  ever  so  much  more 
like  your  aunt  than  you  are  now." 

"  Oh,  Ada,"  said  Margie  eagerly. 

"  Yes  ;  you  know  your  aunt  braids  her  hair  in  fine 
braids,  and  pins  it  round  and  round,  nice  and  smooth 
and  flat  on  the  back  of  her  head." 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  could  do  that,  couldn't  I  ?  " 

"  You  haven't  any  hairpins  !  " 

"  Well,  I  can  buy  some  ;  that  is  if  they  don't  cost 
too  much.  I  have  sixty-three  cents.  Do  you  suppose 
hairpins  cost  more  than  that,  Ada  ?  " 

"  I  guess  they  cost  as  much  as  a  dollar,  because  they 


Marjories   ff^ay  153 

come  all  done  up  in  little  bundles  wrapped  in  red 
paper,"  said  Ada. 

"What's  the  other  thing  you  thought  of?"  ques- 
tioned Margie  anxiously. 

"  Your  clothes  are  so  different  from  your  aunt's. 
She  most  always  wears  a  gray  dress  or  a  black  dress, 
you  know,  and  the  waist  buttons  tight,  right  down 
the  front ;  and  the  skirts  are  long  and  seem  kind  of 
stiff  'round  the  bottom,  and  set  out.  Then  she  always 
has  something  white  round  her  neck  and  wrists,  and 
wears  that  big  pink  cameo  pin  with  a  church  on  it." 

Marjorie  sighed.  "  I  don't  suppose  Aunt  Maria 
would  get  me  a  new  gray  dress  made  just  like  hers." 

Ada  giggled.     "  You'd  look  awful  funny,  Margie." 

"  No,  I  shouldn't,  Ada.  Perhaps  some  other  girl 
might,  but  if  I  was  doing  it  to  please  my  mother  and 
father,  not  just  dressing  up  for  fun,  but  because  they 
were  anxious  for  me  to  look  just  like  her ;  why,  then 
nobody  would  think  I  looked  funny  !  " 

Ada  grew  serious  instantly.  "You  find  out  how 
much  hairpins  cost,  Margie,  and  I'll  help  you  do  your 
hair.  I  know  just  how  Miss  "Wing  does  hers  because 
all  my  life  I've  sat  in  the  pew  right  back  of  her  at 
church,  and  her  hair  is  so  smooth  ! " 

"Let's  go  right  down  to  Mr.  Simpson's  store  and 


1 54  Marjories   Way 

ask  about  hairpins  now,"  said  Margie.  "  We  can  put 
Ivosamund  and  Polly  on  the  front  stairs." 

Ada  agreed,  and  the  two  little  girls  were  soon  hur- 
rying toward  the  village  store  with  Buff  close  beside 
them.  Hairpins  proved  to  be  cheap.  Three  cents  a 
bunch  for  the  black  wire  ones  with  crinkles  in  them ! 
Margie  promptly  decided  to  take  two  bunches.  Then 
back  they  went  to  Margie's  house,  and  up-stairs  to  the 
little  white  room,  where  Ada  proceeded  to  comb  and 
braid  Margie's  dark  hair  as  smoothly  as  possible,  and 
to  pin  it  closely  about  the  back  of  her  head.  It  proved 
a  difficult  and  somewhat  painful  undertaking,  and 
Ada's  arms  were  tired  and  Margie's  head  sore  before 
any  satisfactory  results  were  achieved  ;  but  at  last 
Ada  declared  that  it  was  "just  as  much  like  Miss 
"Wing's  as  can  be !  "  and  Margie  was  allowed  to  look 
in  the  glass. 

"  Oh,  Ada,  it  all  crinkles  about  my  face,  and  you 
know  Aunt  Maria's  is  as  smooth  as  smooth  can  be ! " 
said  Margie  reproachfully. 

"  It's  your  hair  will  curl  that  way,"  explained  Ada. 
"  It  isn't  my  fault.  If  you  was  to  get  some  lard  per- 
haps I  could  smooth  it  down  more  like  hers.  Are  you 
going  to  let  your  aunt  see  your  hair  to-night  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Margie,  beginning  to  take  out  the 


"  Oh,  Ada,  it  all  crinkles  about  my  face  " 


Marjories   Way  155 

hairpins.  "  You  see,  Ada,  I  think  it  would  be  a  nice 
surprise  for  Aunt  Maria,  as  well  as  for  my  mother  and 
father,  if  she  could  see  how  much  I  was  like  her  the 
same  time  they  do.  While  you  were  braiding  my 
hair  I  thought  out  just  how  to  do  it.  The  day  mother 
and  father  come  Aunt  Maria  will  go  to  Boston  to 
meet  them,  and  I'll  stay  home ;  then  you  come  over 
and  do  my  hair,  and  we'll  make  it  smooth  and  nice 
with  lard,  and  I  will  borrow  one  of  Aunt  Maria's 
dresses  and  put  it  on  and  be  all  ready  before  they  get 
here.  Then,  when  they  come  up  the  steps  I'll  open 
the  door!"  Margie  made  an  impressive  pause  for  a 
second,  and  then  said  in  a  lower  tone,  "  And  there  I 
will  stand  before  them  exactly  like  my  Aunt  Maria  !  " 

"  I  guess  they  will  be  awful  pleased  !  "  said  Ada. 

"  Of  course  they  will,"  agreed  Margie.  "  "Why,  that's 
just  what  they  had  me  come  to  Massachusetts  for,  and 
they  thought  it  would  take  two  years.  I'm  real  glad 
you  thought  about  the  hair  and  the  dress,  Ada !  " 

"  Is  it  to  be  a  truly  secret  ?  "  asked  Ada. 

c;  Oh,  yes,  till  my  mother  comes ;  then,  of  course, 
everybody  will  know  it,  as  I  shall  do  my  hair  that  way 
and  wear  long  dresses  all  the  time." 

Ada  giggled  again.  "I  can't  help  thinking  how 
funny  you'll  look,"  she  said  apologetically. 


156  Marjories 

"I  shan't  look  funny  either,  Ada;  you  know  my 
mother  expects  me  to  do  everything  I  can  to  be  just 
like  my  Aunt  Maria  !  Anyway,  it's  a  secret !  " 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  said  Ada. 


CHAPTEK  XVI 
MABGIE'S  FAIR 


"  OH,  Ada,"  exclaimed  Margie  one  morning  when 
the  two  little  girls  met  on  their  way  to  school,  "  you 
remember  about  those  little  girls  we  saw  in  Boston  ?  " 

Ada  nodded.  "  The  ones  who  went  to  ride  in  the 
swan  boat  when  your  Aunt  Maria  paid  for  them  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Margie ;  "  those  very  ones.  And  you 
remember  that  I  told  you  that  their  dresses  were  not 
clean,  and  that  they  were  barefooted,  and  did  not  wear 
any  hats  ?  " 

Ada  nodded  again. 

"  "Well,  Aunt  Maria  says  there  are  lots  of  little  girls, 
and  little  boys,  too,  like  those,  in  Boston ;  and  that 
when  winter  comes  their  hands  and  feet  are  cold,  and 
their  houses  are  cold,  and  that  sometimes  those  little 
children  are  hungry." 

"The  little  girls  who  went  to  sail  in  the  swan 
boat?" 

"  Aunt  Maria  said  she  shouldn't  be  s'prised  if  those 
very  little  girls  didn't  have  any  warm  coats  to  wear 
when  snow  comes ! " 

"  "Well,"  said  Ada,  "  then  their  fathers  will  have  to 


158  Marjories    Jf^ay 

buy  them  some.  My  father  is  going  to  buy  me  a  new 
coat.  I  guess  it  will  be  a  red  one." 

"  Oh,  goody  !  "  said  Margie ;  "  then  you  can  send 
your  brown  one,  the  one  you  wore  that  rainy  day,  to 
some  poor  little  girl  in  the  city." 

"  Why,  Margie  Philips,  I  can't,  either.  My  mother 
expects  me  to  wear  the  brown  coat  all  winter  to 
school,  and  save  my  new  one  for  Sundays." 

"  Oh,"  said  Margie ;  "  but  if  I  was  you  I  wouldn't 
have  a  new  one  then ;  I'd  get  my  father  to  give  me  the 
money  and  I'd  send  it  to  the  little  girls  who  can't  have 
even  mittens." 

Ada  looked  at  Margie  anxiously.  "I  guess  you 
won't  give  away  your  old  coat  until  your  aunt  buys 
you  another'  one,"  she  said. 

"  Oh,  I  haven't  any  old  coat,  or  any  new  one,  yet ; 
but  Ada,  wouldn't  it  be  lovely  if  we  could  send  some- 
thing to  those  little  girls  ?  " 

"  I  could  send  my  blue  sweater,  I  guess ;  it's  so  small 
I  can't  hardly  wriggle  into  it,"  said  Ada  thoughtfully. 
"  What  could  you  send  ?  " 

"  Oh,  dear ! "  said  Margie.  "  I  haven't  any  outgrown 
things,  and  my  clothes  are  all  summer  clothes ;  but  I 
know  how  we  could  earn  some  money  to  buy  things 
with." 


Marjories    W^ay  159 

"  How  ?  "  asked  Ada  eagerly ;  but  they  were  at  the 
schoolhouse  door  and  there  was  no  opportunity  for 
Margie  to  explain  her  plan.  Ada  could  not  think  of 
anything  else  until  recess  time,  and  as  soon  as  they 
were  out  of  doors  she  said :  "  Oh,  Margie,  what  is  the 
plan?" 

"  Well,"  said  Margie,  "  I  didn't  think  it  up  all  my 
own  self ;  Aunt  Maria  thought  of  it  first.  She  knows 
where  some  children  live  in  Boston  in  little  narrow 
places,  where  there's  not  a  yard  to  play  in,  or  any- 
thing. And  when  winter  comes " 

"  But  what  is  the  plan  ?  "  interrupted  Ada. 

"  Why !  I  was  just  telling  you,"  responded  Margie 
reproachfully. 

"  No,  you  haven't  said  a  word  about  any  plan ;  you 
are  just  telling  where  children  live  without  a  yard." 

"Why,  Ada  Streeter " 

But  their  conversation  was  interrupted  by  Adrienne 
Wilson,  who  came  running  up  to  tell  them  that  her 
father  had  bought  a  yellow  puppy,  which  looked  almost 
exactly  like  Buff. 

"  Were  you  talking  secrets  ?  "  asked  Adrienne. 

"  No,"  said  Margie,  "  not  exactly  secrets,  because  I 
was  going  to  tell  you  about  it  after  school." 

"  It's  about  little  girls  in  Boston,"  volunteered  Ada, 


160  Marjories    Way 

and  just  then  the  bell  rang,  and  they  had  to  go  back 
to  the  schoolroom,  and  now  Adrienne  was  as  curious 
as  Ada  to  hear  what  Margie  had  to  tell,  and  as  soon 
as  school  closed  they  began  asking  her  questions,  and 
this  time  Margie  told  her  plan. 

"  We  can  have  a  fair,  and  make  things  to  sell,  pin- 
cushions and  dusters,  and  pen- wipers,  and  everybody 
will  come  and  buy;  and  we  can  have  an  entertain- 
ment, too,  and  charge  ten  cents  admission ;  and  then 
we'll  get  money  enough  to  get  a  lot  of  shoes  and 
things  for  those  little  girls,"  said  Margie. 

"  But  where  can  we  have  the  fair  and  the  entertain- 
ment ?  "  questioned  Ada. 

"We  could  borrow  the  schoolhouse,"  suggested 
Adrienne,  "  if  we  had  it  Saturday." 

"  So  we  could ! "  agreed  Margie ;  "  and  we'd  have  to 
have  it  Saturday." 

"  What  kind  of  an  entertainment  would  we  have  ?  " 
asked  Ada ;  "  would  we  speak  pieces  ?  " 

Margie  shook  her  head.     "  Tableaux,"  she  said. 

The  other  little  girls  looked  at  each  other  and  then 
at  Margie. 

"Tableaux,"  said  Margie,  "are  pictures,  with  real 
people  in  them.  Aunt  Maria  told  me ;  and  then  peo- 
ple guess  what  you  are  trying  to  be.  Or,  sometimes, 


Marjories    Way  161 

somebody  says  *  This  is  Queen  Elizabeth,'  and  a  cur- 
tain goes  up,  and  there  is  Adrienne  with  a  big  ruff  of 
paper  around  her  neck  and  on  her  head  a  big  crown 
made  of  pasteboard  covered  with  gilt  paper  so  as  to 
look  exactly  like  solid  gold." 

"  Oh !  "  said  Adrienne,  breathlessly. 

"  And  what  would  I  be  ?  "  asked  Ada. 

"  Perhaps  you  would  be  Queen  of  the  May,  with  a 
wreath  on  your  head,  and  flowers  in  your  hands." 

"  And  what  would  you  be,  Margie  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Margie  ;  "  but  if  we  have  it 
we  must  begin  right  away  to  make  things,  and  to  get 
all  the  girls  at  school  to  make  things,  and  to  ask  their 
mothers  for  dresses  and  shoes  to  send  to  those  other 
little  girls  who  go  cold  winters." 

"  "We  might  get  the  teacher  to  help,"  suggested 
Ada. 

"  Couldn't  Lucy  be  in  a  tableau  ?  "  asked  Adrienne. 

"  I  guess  she  could,"  said  Margie.  "  Now  let's  tell 
some  of  the  girls,  and  Aunt  Maria  said  that  we  could 
have  a  meeting  at  her  house  to  talk  it  over." 

Miss  Pitts,  the  teacher,  was  greatly  interested  by 
Margie's  plan  ;  and  the  next  day  after  school  ten  little 
girls  about  Margie's  age  met  at  Miss  Wing's.  Miss 
Pitts  was  with  them,  and  it  was  decided  that  the  fair 


162  Marjories    tf^ay 

should  be  held  three  weeks  later,  on  Saturday  after- 
noon and  evening,  in  the  schoolhouse. 

Miss  Pitts  thought  that  they  could  arrange  a  num- 
ber of  tableaux.  She  read  Jean  Ingelow's  "  Seven 
Times  One  are  Seven "  to  the  girls,  and  they  all 
thought  it  would  be  a  fine  idea  to  give  the  poem  as  a 
series  of  tableaux,  each  little  girl  repeating  the  verse 
which  would  explain  her  own  tableau. 

Each  one  was  to  make  some  special  thing  for  the 
fair.  Margie  was  to  make  dusters,  Ada  was  to  make 
holders,  Adrienne  was  to  make  bags  of  calico  for 
scrap-bags,  and  each  of  the  other  girls  was  given 
special  things  to  make. 

As  soon  as  the  mothers  heard  of  the  little  girls'  un- 
dertaking they  became  interested,  and  numerous  par- 
cels of  clothing  were  sent  to  Miss  Wing's  house  as 
gifts  for  the  little  girls  in  the  city  who  did  not  have 
warm  clothing  for  winter.  When  Farmer  Wyman 
heard  of  the  plan,  he  said  that  he  would  give  a  barrel 
of  apples,  potatoes,  squash  and  onions  ;  other  farmers 
became  interested,  and  before  the  day  of  the  fair  ar- 
rived there  was  a  freight  car  standing  near  the  station 
pretty  well  filled  with  farm  produce  which  was  to  go 
to  Boston  to  the  city  missionary,  who  would  see  that 
it  was  delivered  to  families  where  there  were  little 


Marjories    If^ay  163 

boys  and  girls  who  did  not  always  have  enough  to 
eat. 

What  a  busy  time  it  was !  Every  day  after  school 
the  little  girls  met  and  worked  industriously  for  the 
fair.  Margie  had  written  Luke  and  Betty  about  it, 
and  Luke  sent  her  a  tiny  dog  cut  out  of  wood,  and 
also  a  tiny  branch  with  two  birds  perched  upon  it, 
which  he  had  skilfully  carved.  Every  one  admired 
these  very  much,  and  Margie  felt  very  proud  of  Luke. 
Betty  wrote  to  say  that  she  was  learning  to  knit,  and 
that  she  could  not  make  anything  in  time  for  the  fair, 
but  she  would  knit  two  pairs  of  mittens  for  little  girls 
just  her  size,  and  send  them  later. 

When  the  day  of  the  fair  came  the  schoolroom  was 
trimmed  with  branches  of  fragrant  fir  and  pine,  with 
long  strands  of  evergreen,  and  bunches  of  bright  ber- 
ries. Ferdinand  and  several  of  his  boy  friends  had 
gone  to  the  woods  after  the  greenery  and  had  ar- 
ranged it  around  the  windows  and  over  the  doors. 

A  number  of  the  desks  were  covered  with  pretty 
things  made  for  the  fair,  and  the  ten  little  girls,  with 
white  aprons  and  tiny  white  caps,  were  in  attendance. 
The  fair  began  at  two  o'clock  on  Saturday  afternoon, 
and  by  half-past  three  everything  was  sold,  much  to 
Margie's  delight.  Miss  Pitts  counted  up  the  money 


164  Marjories 

and  found  they  had  taken  over  twenty  dollars.  The 
entertainment  was  to  be  at  seven  o'clock  that  evening. 
The  tiny  platform  in  the  schoolroom  was  easily  ar- 
ranged for  a  stage.  The  boys  were  delighted  to  find 
they  could  be  of  use  in  putting  up  the  curtains.  The 
back  of  the  platform,  filled  in  with  the  green  branches 
of  spruce  and  hemlock,  made  a  fine  background  for 
the  little  girls  in  their  light  dresses,  and  the  tableaux 
were  a  great  success. 

Monday  the  car  with  its  boxes  of  clothing,  its  bar- 
rels of  apples  and  potatoes,  started  for  Boston ;  and 
the  same  day  a  letter  went  to  the  city  missionary, 
containing  a  check  for  thirty  dollars  to  be  used  to  buy 
clothing  for  children  who  needed  it.  Miss  Pitts  wrote 
the  letter  and  told  all  about  the  fair,  and  about  the 
little  girls  who  planned  it.  Margie  and  Ada  waited 
anxiously  for  Miss  Pitts  to  receive  an  answer  to  this 
letter,  and  it  soon  came,  telling  of  the  warm  shoes  and 
stockings  the  money  had  purchased,  of  the  neat  coats 
and  dresses,  and  of  how  much  comfort  and  happiness 
the  carload  of  apples  and  potatoes  had  given  to  many 
families. 

"  Do  you  s'pose  those  little  girls  who  rode  in  the 
swan  boat  got  any  apples  or  any  shoes  ?  "  asked  Ada, 
as  she  and  Margie  talked  it  all  over. 


Marjories    W^ay  165 


"  P'raps  so.     I  shouldn't  be  a  bit  surprised  if  they 

had    shoes   and  stockings,   and  p'raps  a   hat,"   said 

Margie  hopefully. 
"  Well,"  said  Ada,  "  I  hope  one  of  those  little  girls 

got  my  blue  sweater  and  that  the  other  one  got  my 

brown  coat." 

"  Oh,  did  you  send  the  brown  coat,  Ada  ?  " 
"  Yes,  and  I  have  the  loveliest  new  red  coat." 
"  I  guess  it  was  lucky  Aunt  Maria  and  I  saw  those 

little  girls  last  summer,"  said  Margie. 

"  Well,  the  fair  was  considerable  work,"  replied 

Ada,  thoughtfully.     "  But  I  guess  it  was  worth  while, 

don't  you  ?  " 


CHAPTER  XVII 

LUKE  MAKES  A  NEW  FEIEND 

WHEN  Mr.  Field  arrived  at  the  Philips  plantation 
Luke  and  his  father  were  busy  making  the  necessary 
alterations  in  the  carriage-house,  and  the  artist  often 
went  down  and  watched  them  about  their  work.  He 
was  a  tall  man,  with  light  hair,  and  as  Luke  watched 
him  he  thought  that  Mr.  Field  did  not  look  at  all  as 
he  had  expected.  "  His  hair  isn't  any  darker  than 
mine,"  he  said  to  his  father  ;  "  and  he  isn't  so  dreadful 
lame  either;  he  gets  about  with  that  crutch  as  smart 
as  anybody." 

The  more  Luke  saw  of  Mr.  Field  the  better  he  un- 
derstood why  Margie  thought  it  such  a  fine  thing  to 
be  an  artist,  so  gentle  and  lovable  he  was  and  so  full 
of  information  about  things  Luke  had  always  wanted 
to  know. 

"  He's  the  seeingest  man,  dad,"  exclaimed  Luke. 
"  He  makes  you  think  that  all  the  old  things  around 
you  are  fine  ;  he's  showed  me  pictures  all  around  here, 
in  the  woods,  and  down  on  the  creek,  and  everywhere. 

It's  just  how  you  look  at  things,  he  says,  that  makes 

1 66 


Marjories   If^ay  167 

you  see  pictures  in  them.  And  what  he  don't  know 
about  dogs "  and  Luke  paused  in  silent  admira- 
tion. 

The  boy  looked  over  the  artist's  sketches  with  glow- 
ing eyes,  and  after  a  time  timidly  brought  out  his 
wooden  dogs,  in  which  Mr.  Field  showed  much  in- 
terest. He  looked  closely  also  at  a  drawing  of  the 
setter  pups  that  Luke  was  making  to  send  to  Mar- 
gie. 

"  I'm  sure  she'll  like  it,"  he  said.  "  She  taught  you 
to  read,  didn't  she  ?  "  he  added. 

"  Yes,  sir,  just  as  her  Aunt  Maria  did  you,"  replied 
Luke.  Mr.  Field  laughed  a  little,  and  then  began  to 
talk  to  Luke  about  Ashley,  and  about  his  own  boy- 
hood. Luke  listened,  and  when  he  went  home  that 
day  he  was  full  of  new  plans  and  ambitions. 

Mr.  Field  found  that  whatever  Luke  attempted, 
work,  lessons,  or  play,  he  became  greatly  interested  in 
and  was  patient  and  persevering.  The  artist  liked  to 
have  the  boy  with  him,  and  a  warm  friendship  grew 
up  between  them. 

Mr.  Sanders  and  Mrs.  Philips  had  many  talks  to- 
gether, and  Mr.  Sanders  often  watched  Luke  with  a 
new  interest.  One  day  the  boy  noticed  that  his  fa- 
ther seemed  unusually  dull  and  solemn. 


168  Marjories 


"  What's  the  matter,  dad  ?  "  he  asked  anxiously. 
"  You  feeling  sick  ?  " 

Mr.  Sanders  shook  his  head,  and  endeavored  to 
look  more  cheerful.  "Sick!"  he  exclaimed.  "I 
guess  not,  living  as  well  as  we  do,  with  Aunt  Cora 
fetchin'  us  in  hot  bread  every  mornin',  and  me  earnin' 
reg'lar  wages,  you  might  say,  work  bein'  so  steady. 
I  s'pose  I  looked  sort  of  lonesome,  eh  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes,"  responded  Luke  slowly 

"  Well,  I  expect  I  was  sort  of  projectin'  into  the 
future  when  you'd  be  goin'  off  and  I'd  hev'  to  keep 
house  alone." 

Luke  laughed.  "  Why,  I  guess  that  time  won't  ever 
come,  dad,"  he  said.  "  I'd  be  looking  lonesome  my- 
self if  I  thought  I'd  have  to  leave  you." 

Mr.  Sanders  was  silent  for  a  moment.  "Well,  I 
don't  know,  son,"  he  said  ;  "  if  you're  goin'  to  have 
an  education  the  way  Mr.  Field  says,  it  looks  to 
me  as  if  you'd  have  to  strike  out  from  here  some 
day." 

Luke's  face  grew  sober.  "  But  that  won't  be  'til 
I  grow  up,  dad,"  he  said  ;  "  not  for  a  long  time." 

"  They  tell  me  different,"  said  Mr.  Sanders.  "  They 
say  to  get  a  good  education  you  have  to  begin 
young." 


Marjories    tf^ay  169 

"Then  I  don't  want  any  education,"  said  Luke, 
almost  fiercely.  "  I  won't  go  and  leave  you,  dad." 

Mr.  Sanders  patted  his  son's  arm.  "  Land,  'twould 
come  dreadful  hard  to  let  you  go,"  he  said  with  a  sigh. 

Mrs.  Philips  made  up  the  white  dress  Luke  had 
given  her,  and  he  felt  very  proud  and  happy  when  he 
saw  her  wear  it. 

"  I  wish  Mr.  Field  would  paint  your  picture  in  a 
white  dress,"  he  said,  looking  at  her  admiringly; 
"  and  paint  it  just  as  you  look  when  you  smile.  Did 
Mr.  Field  ever  paint  Miss  Wing's  picture  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Luke,  he  painted  a  beautiful  portrait  of  Miss 
Wing,  and  it  hangs  in  his  studio  in  Boston.  Perhaps 
you'll  see  it  there  some  day." 

"  I  wish  I  could,"  said  Luke. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Philips  had  decided  that  the  thousand 
dollars  which  Miss  Wing  wished  to  give  her  sister 
should  be  put  in  the  bank  for  Marjorie. 

"  Perhaps  she  may  want  to  go  to  college,  and  a 
thousand  dollars  would  be  a  great  help,"  her  father 
had  said. 

"  Or  she  may  want  to  study  music,  or  perhaps  be  a 
doctor,"  Mrs.  Philips  had  responded  with  a  little 
laugh.  "  In  any  event  it  will  be  useful  to  her  later 
on."  So  she  had  written  to  Miss  Wing  that  they 


1 70  Marjories    Way 

should  consider  the  money  Marjorie's,  and  Miss  "Wing 
had  told  her  little  niece. 

"  I  don't  suppose  I  could  buy  a  nice  pony  with  it  ?  " 
Margie  had  suggested. 

"  JSTo  indeed,"  said  Miss  "Wing ;  "  that  thousand  dol- 
lars is  for  your  education." 

"  To  make  me  just  like  you,"  Margie  had  responded 
laughingly.  "  Oh,  Aunt  Maria,  it  won't  take  all  that 
money  for  that,  why "  then  she  stopped,  remem- 
bering that  in  a  very  short  time  her  aunt  would  see 
how  well  she  had  improved  the  time,  and  then  perhaps 
the  thousand  dollars  could  be  used  to  buy  a  pony. 

Marjorie's  words  gave  her  aunt  a  new  thought,  and 
she  smiled  as  she  busied  herself  about  her  household 
work.  That  afternoon  she  went  out  to  see  Mr.  "Wy- 
man  and  had  a  long  talk  with  him,  and  when  she 
came  home  she  stopped  at  a  carpenter's  shop  and  en- 
gaged him  to  come  and  make  some  repairs  on  the  lit- 
tle stable  which  stood  back  of  the  house. 


CHAPTEK  XVIII 

THE   SURPRISE 

WHEN  Aunt  Maria  received  word  that  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Philips  would  reach  Boston  on  a  certain  day  Margie 
could  hardly  wait  for  that  day  to  come. 

"  I  s'pose  that  I  am  the  luckiest  girl  that  ever  was," 
she  said,  as  she  helped  her  Aunt  Maria  about  the 
household  work. 

Aunt  Maria  smiled  at  the  happy  face  of  her  little 
niece,  and  nodded  responsively. 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder,"  she  said,  "  with  your  *  sur- 
prise '  for  your  mother,  and  her  surprise  for  you." 

Margie  felt  that  these  were  very  exciting  days,  and 
she  almost  wished  that  she  might  stay  away  from 
school  until  after  her  father  and  mother  came. 

Early  in  the  morning  of  the  day  on  which  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Philips  were  to  arrive  Margie  hurried  off  to  tell 
Ada,  who  promised  to  be  on  hand  in  good  season  to  do 
her  hair  just  like  Miss  Wing's,  and  to  help  her  with  the 
preparations  for  the  "  surprise." 

Miss  Wing  started  off  in  good  season  to  meet  the 

travelers,  and  told  Margie  that  if  their  train  reached 

171 


172  Marjories   tf^ay 

Boston  on  time  they  would  arrive  in  Ashley  a  little 
after  five.  Margie  thought  nothing  could  be  better, 
as  that  would  give  her  plenty  of  time  after  school  to 
have  her  hair  arranged  like  her  aunt's  and  to  change 
her  dress  for  one  of  Miss  Wing's. 

It  was  hard  to  be  attentive  to  lessons  that  day,  but 
Margie  did  her  best  until  the  close  of  the  afternoon 
session ;  then  she  and  Ada  hurried  home  as  fast  as 
possible. 

Margie  had  secured  a  cup  of  lard  from  the  pantry, 
and  Ada  applied  it  generously  to  the  crinkly  brown 
hair.  They  were  both  delighted  with  the  result. 
Every  kink  and  ripple  was  smoothed  out,  and  the 
braids  were  as  smooth  as  those  of  Miss  Wing  herself. 
Then  Margie  went  to  her  aunt's  room  and  brought  out 
a  neat  gray  dress. 

"  Isn't  it  lucky  she  didn't  wear  the  cameo  pin ! " 
exclaimed  Margie  as  she  saw  it  on  her  aunt's  pin- 
cushion. 

Margie  found  the  dress  rather  longer  than  she  ex- 
pected. "  I  believe  Aunt  Maria  is  a  lot  taller  than  I 
am  after  all,"  she  said  regretfully. 

"  Well,  she  is  some  taller,"  admitted  Ada. 

"  And  the  waist  don't  button  tight  on  me,  same  as  it 
does  on  Aunt  Maria,"  said  Margie. 


Marjories    tf^ay  173 

"  I  might  tuck  in  things  to  make  the  waist  fit,"  sug- 
gested Ada. 

"  Oh,  do,  Ada,"  said  Margie  anxiously  ;  "  because  I 
don't  seem  to  look  as  much  like  her  as  I  expected ; " 
so  Ada  tucked  in  several  handkerchiefs  and  a  towel  to 
give  Margie's  waist  the  desired  size. 

"There  isn't  anything  else  you  can  think  of,  is 
there  ?  "  Margie  asked. 

"  No,"  said  Ada.  "  My !  You  look  real  grown-up, 
Margie.  I  guess  your  mother'll  hardly  know  you." 

This  was  encouraging,  and  Margie's  hopes  revived. 
Both  the  little  girls  began  to  watch  the  road  to  the 
depot.  Ada  had  advised  that  not  until  Miss  Wing  and 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Philips  had  reached  the  gate  should 
Margie  open  the  front  door  and  welcome  them. 

"  I'll  run  home  just  as  soon  as  I  see  them  coming," 
Ada  added.  "  My  mother  told  me  not  to  stay." 

It  was  just  after  five  when  the  little  girls  saw  the 
expected  visitors  coming  up  the  street.  Ada  scam- 
pered for  home,  while  Margie  went  carefully  down  the 
stairs,  and  stood  just  inside  the  door  ready  to  open  it 
when  she  should  hear  the  sound  of  steps  on  the  brick 
walk. 

"  "Where  is  my  (  Sweet  Marjorie '  ?  "  her  father  had 
asked  in  a  disappointed  tone,  when  they  came  in  sight 


174  Marjorie 


of  the  house  and  no  little  girl  appeared  to  welcome 
them. 

"  Oh,  she  has  planned  some  kind  of  a  surprise  for 
us,"  explained  Miss  Wing. 

Mrs.  Philips  laughed.  "  Yes,  she  has  been  writing 
me  about  it  for  weeks." 

Margie  could  hardly  wait  for  the  sound  of  the  ex- 
pected steps,  and,  as  soon  as  she  heard  Buff's  bark  of 
welcome  she  swung  open  the  door  and,  forgetting  that 
she  intended  to  smile  just  like  Aunt  Maria,  rushed  to- 
ward her  mother  with  extended  arms. 

Unluckily  she  also  forgot  about  her  long  skirts,  and 
in  a  moment  her  feet  had  become  entangled  in  them 
and  over  she  fell,  rolling  down  the  steps  to  land  in  a 
rumpled  gray  heap  at  her  father's  feet.  Buff  felt  that 
this  was  another  opportunity  for  him  to  distinguish 
himself,  and  began  tugging  at  the  gray  dress  with  so 
much  vigor  that  the  well-worn  material  could  not 
stand  the  strain  ;  and  a  long,  yawning  rent  down  the 
back  of  the  skirt  was  the  result. 

"  Oh,  mother  !  mother  !  "  called  Margie,  who  had 
fallen  on  her  face  and  was  prevented  from  rising  by 
her  skirts  and  by  Buff's  unexpected  tugs  and  pulls. 

"  For  pity's  sake  !  It  is  Margie  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Philips. 


Marjories   Jf^ay  175 

"  And  in  my  best  gray  dress,"  added  Miss  Wing,  as 
Buff's  efforts  resulted  in  a  final  heart-breaking  tear  of 
the  skirt. 

Mr.  Philips  picked  up  the  forlorn  little  figure,  and 
bent  his  face  over  the  greasy  head. 

"  Why,  child ! "  he  exclaimed,  "  what  is  the  matter 
with  your  hair?  And  how  fat  you  are!  Why, 
mother,  just  take  hold  of  her." 

"  Fat ! "  exclaimed  Aunt  Maria  with  a  laugh,  as  she 
looked  at  the  stubby  little  figure. 

Mrs.  Philips  was  gazing  at  her  little  daughter  in 
wonder.  Margie  had  scraped  her  nose  on  the  brick 
walk,  and  altogether  presented  a  very  different  figure 
from  the  neat  little  girl  they  had  expected  to  see. 

"I  wanted  to  look  just  like  Aunt  Maria,"  she 
sobbed.  "  You  said  you  wanted  me  to  be  just  such  a 
woman,  and  I  thought  you'd  be  real  surprised  and 
pleased  to  see  how  much  I  was  like  her.  Ada  helped 
me!" 

At  this  Miss  Wing  sat  down  on  the  piazza  steps  and 
laughed  and  laughed,  and  even  Mr.  Philips  joined, 
but  Margie's  mother  did  not  laugh.  She  put  her  arm 
about  the  forlorn  little  figure  and  drew  her  into  the 
house,  and  held  up  the  torn  skirt  as  they  made  their 
way  up  the  stairs  to  the  little  white  chamber. 


176  Marjories   It^ay 

"  Mother  knows,"  she  whispered.  "  And  you  were 
a  dear  little  daughter  to  want  to  please  her.  But  you 
didn't  understand  what  I  meant,  did  you,  dear  ?  " 

"  I  guess  not,"  said  Margie  with  a  sigh. 

It  did  not  take  very  long  to  restore  Margie  to  her 
every-day  self,  and  send  her  down-stairs  to  see  her 
father.  But  she  was  a  very  quiet  little  girl  that  even- 
ing, and  seemed  to  watch  Aunt  Maria  with  a  new 
interest.  "When  she  said  good-night  to  her  mother 
she  whispered,  "  I  think  I  know  now,  mother,  what 
you  meant." 

"  Yes,  dear  ?  " 

"You  meant  that  you  want  me  to  be  like  Aunt 
Maria  in  my  ways,  and  think  about  doing  things  for 
people  as  she  does,  like  helping  Mr.  Field,  and  having 
Buff  and  me  to  live  with  her." 

"  Yes,  dear,  I  hope  you  will  be  like  her  in  spirit,  and 
in  generous  deeds." 

"  I  did  teach  Luke,  mamma."    Mrs.  Philips  nodded. 

"  Aunt  Maria  never  said  a  word  about  the  lard,  or 
about  her  best  dress  being  spoiled,"  continued  Margie. 
"  Perhaps  I  can  grow  like  her.  Ada  said  it  ought  to 
come  gradually." 

"That  is  the  best  way,"  said  her  mother  kissing 
her  good-night. 


CHAPTER  XIX 
MR.  FIELD'S  NEW  PICTURE 

IT  was  very  early  when  Margie  awoke  the  next 
morning,  and  she  slid  out  of  bed  and  dressed  as 
quietly  as  she  could.  When  she  got  down-stairs  it 
was  not  quite  six  o'clock.  She  brought  in  kindlings 
and  started  the  kitchen  fire  and  filled  the  teakettle. 
Then  she  stepped  softly  into  the  dining-room  and  set 
the  table.  She  took  in  the  jar  of  cream  which  the 
milkman  had  left  on  the  step,  and  when  Miss  "Wing 
came  down  she  found  that  a  very  good  start  had  been 
made  toward  breakfast. 

"  You  are  a  real  treasure,"  she  said,  giving  Margie 
a  kiss.  "  And  all  this  hot  water." 

"Oh,  Aunt  Maria,"  said  Margie,  "I  have  spoiled 
your  pretty  gray  dress ! " 

Miss  Wing  laughed,  and  patted  the  little  girl's 
shoulder. 

"  Do  you  know,  Margie,  that  no  one  ever  paid  me 
such  a  compliment  as  you  did.  To  think  that  you 
really  wanted  to  look  like  me !  " 

177 


178  Marjories   Way 

This  made  Margie  smile  again.  "  Oh,  but  I  shall 
be  like  you ;  only  it  will  come  gradually,"  she  said. 

"  Has  your  mother  told  you  about  her  surprise  ?  It 
must  be  something  remarkable,  for  we  must  all  go 
to  Mr.  Field's  studio  with  her  to-day  to  see  it." 

"  Do  I  go  ?  "  asked  Margie. 

"  Indeed  you  do  ;  it's  your  surprise  first,  and  then  I 
am  to  be  surprised  a  little  myself." 

"  What  do  you  suppose  it  is,  Aunt  Maria  ?  "  said 
Margie  eagerly. 

"  Well,"  responded  Aunt  Maria,  "  I  have  been 
wondering  myself,  and  I  have  about  made  up  my 
mind  what  it  is." 

"  Oh,  Aunt  Maria !  " 

Aunt  Maria  nodded.  "  I  believe  it  is  a  picture  of 
your  home,"  she  said,  "or  perhaps  a  portrait  of  Betty. 
Now,  run  up-stairs  with  a  pitcher  of  hot  water  for 
mamma,  and  tell  her  that  breakfast  will  be  ready  in 
half  an  hour  and  that  we  must  take  the  eight-thirty 
train." 


Mr.  Field  was  very  busy  in  his  studio  that  morning. 
Fortunately  he  had  somebody  to  help  him,  for  there 
were  many  things  to  do.  At  one  end  of  the  room  he 


Marjories   If^ay  179 

had  raised  a  large  gilt  frame,  carefully  fastening  and 
bracing  it  so  that  it  would  stand  upright,  and  he 
spent  a  great  deal  of  time  in  arranging  curtains  be- 
fore it  and  behind.  It  seemed  like  a  good  deal  of 
trouble  for  just  a  gilt  frame,  but  Mr.  Field  worked 
hard  over  it  and  looked  very  much  pleased  when  he 
had  his  work  completed  to  his  satisfaction. 

"  There,"  he  said  at  last.  "  That  will  do.  And  now 
we  will  see  what  we  can  do  in  the  way  of  sur- 
prises." 

He  took  his  place  at  the  window  to  watch  for  his 
guests,  and  when  he  saw  them  coming  went  down  to 
the  door,  greeted  them  warmly,  and  led  them  directly 
into  the  studio.  He  noticed  Margie's  eager  look 
around  the  room,  and  began  at  once  to  talk  to  her 
about  her  southern  home,  and  told  her  about  Betty, 
whom  he  had  seen  in  Columbia.  Aunt  Maria  nodded 
to  Margie,  and  found  an  opportunity  to  whisper,  "  It's 
a  picture,  my  dear,  right  behind  that  big  curtain,  I'm 
sure  of  it." 

But  Mr.  Field  was  telling  Margie  about  "  Uncle " 
and  Aunt  Cora,  so  she  did  not  care  so  much  about 
seeing  a  picture. 

"  And  you  saw  Luke,  too,"  Margie  said,  when  Mr. 
Field  did  not  mention  her  boy  friend. 


180  Marjories   IF  ay 

"  Luke ;  oh,  yes ;  the  boy  who  is  going  to  be  a  car- 
penter," responded  Mr.  Field. 

Margie  nodded.  "  Yes,"  she  said.  "  I  wanted  him 
to  be  an  artist  like  you,  but  there  isn't  any  way  for 
him  to  take  drawing  lessons,  and  Aunt  Maria  says 
artists  have  to  draw." 

"  Yes,"  responded  Mr.  Field  seriously. 

"  I  s'pose  it  costs  a  lot  of  money  to  learn  to  be  an 
artist,"  continued  the  little  girl. 

"Now,  we  want  to  see  your  picture,"  exclaimed 
Aunt  Maria ;  "  for  I  am  sure  that  is  what  you  have  to 
show  us." 

Mr.  Field  smiled  as  he  answered,  "I  think  you 
will  all  say  it  is  a  speaking  likeness." 

He  stepped  toward  the  curtain  that  covered  the  big 
gilt  frame  and  drew  it  carefully  aside.  For  a  moment 
they  were  all  silent,  for  there  before  them  in  the  frame 
was  a  picture  of  a  boy,  standing  very  stiff  and  straight, 
with  one  hand  resting  on  a  table,  and  shining  eyes 
that  looked  right  at  Margie. 

"Why,"  she  exclaimed  in  wonder,  "that  is  Luke 
Sanders !  It's  his  living  image,"  she  added,  after  a 
moment. 

Margie's  exclamation  seemed  to  have  a  strange 
effect  on  the  figure.  The  mouth  began  to  quiver; 


CO 


Marjories    If^ay  181 

gradually  a  smile  became  visible,  widening  rapidly  into 
a  grin.  Then  a  chuckle  came  out  of  the  gilt  frame, 
and  the  boy  inside  it  winked,  yes,  actually  winked  at 
Margie. 

"  Hello,"  he  said.     "  How  do  you  like  my  picture  ?  " 
"  Why,  Luke,"  cried  Margie,  "  is  it  really  you  ?  " 
"  Yes,  it's  my  living  image,"  replied  the  boy  gaily. 
"  You  said  so  yourself,"  and  in  a  moment  they  were 
all  about  him  and  he  was  busy  explaining  the  mystery. 
Margie's  happy  face  and  Miss  Wing's  look  of  ap- 
proval   made    Mr.   Field's   own  face  brighten  with 
pleasure. 

"  So  you  wanted  Luke  to  be  an  artist  ?  "  he  said  to 
Margie.  "  Well,  do  you  know  I  want  him  to  be  an 
artist,  and  I  think  he  has  decided  that  he  will  be  one. 
I  think  some  day  Luke  will  be  a  sculptor,"  he  went 
on,  smiling  at  the  boy,  who  watched  him  with  eager 
eyes.  "  He  will  have  to  work  very,  very  hard,  but  he 
has  it  in  him.  I  am  sure  of  it.  So  I  have  persuaded 
Mr.  Sanders  to  let  him  stay  here  with  me  for  a  time. 
He  is  to  help  me,  and  go  to  school,  and  learn  all  he 
can.  I  will  teach  him  drawing  and  modeling  myself, 
and  some  day — well,  we  will  see,  won't  we,  Luke  ?  " 

The  boy  nodded  his  head  confidently,  and  slipped 
his  hand  into  that  of  his  new  friend. 


j  82  Marjorie 


"  Oh,  Mr.  Field,"  said  Marjorie,  "  do  you  s'pose  it 
would  cost  more'n  a  thousand  dollars  to  teach  Luke  to 
be  an  artist  so  he  could  paint  a  picture  like  that  ?  " 
and  she  pointed  toward  Miss  Wing's  portrait,  and,  be- 
fore he  could  answer,  she  continued  almost  in  a  whis- 
per, "  because  my  mother  has  put  a  thousand  dollars 
in  a  bank  for  me,  and  like  as  not  I  shall  never  want  it, 
and  if  Luke  could  be  an  artist  for  that  I'd  give  it  to 
him." 

Mr.  Field  looked  warmly  at  the  little  girl  for  a  mo- 
ment. Then  he  said,  "  I  don't  know  about  the  picture. 
Perhaps  Luke  will  be  a  different  kind  of  artist,  and 
make  statues  and  other  beautiful  things  in  marble  and 
bronze.  And  he  may  not  need  the  thousand  dollars. 
But  he  will  never  forget,  I  am  sure,  that  you  offered 
it  to  him,  and  that  you  have  been  his  very  best  friend 
always.  My  dear  child,"  he  added,  "I  believe  you 
are  just  like  your  Aunt  Maria,  in  spirit,  I  mean  —  and 
in  wanting  to  help  other  people." 

Marjorie's  face  flushed  happily.  She  wished  that 
her  mother  had  been  near  enough  to  hear  what  Mr. 
Field  had  said. 

"  I  am  going  to  be  like  her,"  she  responded,  "  grad- 
ually." 


Marjories   If^ay  183 

Mrs.  Philips  and  Luke  were  standing  together  look- 
ing at  the  portrait  of  Miss  Wing. 

"  I  shall  paint  a  picture  of  you,  some  day,  Mrs. 
Philips,"  said  Luke  shyly. 

"  So'  you  shall,  my  boy,"  she  responded ;  "  and  I 
will  wear  a  white  dress." 

"  Yes,"  said  Luke ;  "  and  I  will  give  it  to  Margie, 
because  if  it  hadn't  been  for  her  I  couldn't  have  even 
tried  to  be  an  artist." 

It  was  arranged  that  Luke  should  go  out  to  Ashley 
for  a  few  days,  greatly  to  Margie's  delight,  although 
she  seemed  rather  sober  when,  accompanied  by  Mr. 
Field,  the  happy  party  started  for  home. 

She  was  walking  between  Luke  and  Mr.  Field,  and 
they  both  noticed  how  quiet  she  was,  and  Luke 
watched  her  earnestly. 

"  Say,  Margie,  I'll  bet  I  know  what  you  are  think- 
ing about,"  he  said  at  last. 

Margie  shook  her  head.  "  I  don't  believe  you  do, 
Luke,"  she  answered. 

"  Betty  !  "  exclaimed  the  boy  suddenly,  leaning  to- 
ward her. 

"  Why,  how  did  you  know  ?  "  said  Margie.  "  I  was 
thinking  about  Betty  and  wishing  that  she  was  right 
here  and  knew  all  about  your  going  to  be  an  artist." 


184  Marjories 

"  She  does  know,"  said  Luke.  "  Your  mother  told 
her,  and  she  knows  all  about  it.  You  see  it  was 
Betty's  Grandma  Savory  who  made  the  plan  about 
my  getting  these  nice  clothes  from  the  Clay  boys  on 
account  of  '  Spot '  and  '  Stripe ';  "  and  then  Luke  told 
her  all  about  the  dogs. 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  glad,"  said  Margie,  happily.  "  It 
makes  me  feel  just  as  if  Betty  helped  you  to  go  to 
school  and  everything,  doesn't  it,  Luke  ?  " 

Luke  nodded  understandingly.  "  I  want  to  see 
1  Buff,'  "  he  said. 

Mr.  Field  had  waited  for  Miss  "Wing,  so  Luke  and 
Margie  were  walking  by  themselves. 

"  Let's  both  write  to  Betty  to-morrow  and  tell  her 
all  about  your  being  in  a  frame  and  everything  !  "  said 
Margie. 

"  All  right,"  agreed  Luke,  "  but  you  had  better 
write,  Margie,  because  you  write  so  much  better  than 
I  do." 

When  they  walked  up  to  Miss  Wing's  house  Mrs. 
Philips  said, 

"  You  have  company,  Maria ;  there  is  a  pony  team 
standing  in  front  of  the  house." 

Aunt  Maria  did  not  reply,  but  Margie  exclaimed, 
"  Isn't  it  a  pretty  pony  !  See  how  shiny  it  is,  and  its 


Marjories    Way  185 

lovely  long  tail.  And  Ferdinand  Webb  is  holding  its 
bridle,  auntie." 

As  they  came  nearer  they  saw  Ada  standing  just 
inside  the  gate.  "  Oh,  there  is  Ada,"  said  Margie. 

Ada  and  Ferdinand  were  all  smiles  as  Miss  Wing 
came  toward  them,  but  they  looked  at  Luke  curiously, 
wondering  who  this  strange  boy  was. 

They  all  stopped  and  admired  the  neat  little  cart, 
and  the  well-groomed  pony. 

"  Whose  pony  is  it,  Ada  ?  "  asked  Margie,  wonder- 
ing if  her  little  friend  could  possibly  have  had  such  a 
beautiful  present  as  this  pony. 

Ada  laughed.  "  I  guess  Miss  Wing  knows,"  she 
said. 

Then  Miss  Wing  laughed  too.  "  Well,  perhaps  I 
do,"  she  said.  "  I  believe  it  belongs  to  Miss  Marjorie 
Philips  !  Get  in  the  cart,  my  dear,  and  let's  see  how 
we  like  it !  " 

"  Oh,  Aunt  Maria  !  "  exclaimed  Marjorie.  It  did 
not  seem  possible  that  this  wonderful  pony  and  shin- 
ing cart  could  be  for  her,  so  she  stood  looking  first  at 
the  pony  and  then  at  her  aunt  until  Miss  Wing  put 
her  arm  about  the  little  girl  and  drew  her  toward  the 
cart. 

"  Jump  in,  my  dear,"  she  said.     Then  Aunt  Maria 


i86  Marjories 


stepped  in  beside  her  and  they  drove  down  the  street 
a  little  way.  When  they  came  back  the  whole  party 
escorted  them  to  the  little  stable  and  watched  Ferdi- 
nand and  Luke  unharness  the  little  pony,  and  lead 
him  into  his  stall.  "  Buff  "  had  joined  the  party  and 
kept  close  to  Luke,  while  Sarah  Mullins  sat  on  the 
back  porch  and  apparently  did  not  notice  that  any- 
thing unusual  was  taking  place. 

Ada  was  persuaded  to  stay  to  supper,  and  it  was  a 
gay  party  that  gathered  round  Miss  Wing's  supper- 
table  that  night. 

"If  Betty  was  only  here,"  Margie  whispered  to 
Luke. 

"  Yes,  and  dad,"  responded  the  boy. 

It  was  a  long  time  before  Marjorie  could  get  to 
sleep  that  night.  She  thought  of  the  pony  in  the 
stable,  she  thought  of  Luke,  who  was  really  taking 
drawing  lessons  at  last  ;  and,  most  of  all,  she  thought 
of  what  Mr.  Field  had  said  to  her.  "  I  believe  you 
are  just  like  your  Aunt  Maria  in  spirit,"  he  had  said, 
and  Marjorie  sighed  happily  as  she  remembered  it. 


CHAPTER  XX 

MARGIE  AND   LUKE 

THE  next  morning  Luke  and  Margie  both  hurried 
out  to  the  little  stable  to  be  sure  that  "  Topsy,"  as 
they  had  named  the  pony,  was  really  there.  Luke 
led  "  Topsy  "  out  in  the  yard  and  Aunt  Maria  came 
out  with  a  lump  of  sugar,  which  the  pony  ate  eagerly. 

"  "Who  do  you  think  is  coming  to  make  us  a  visit  to- 
day ?  "  said  Aunt  Maria.  Margie  could  not  guess. 

"Mrs.  Melchin,"  said  Aunt  Maria.  "I  have  just 
had  a  message  from  her,  and  it  is  to  be  a  surprise  for 
your  dear  mother.  Mrs.  Melchin  will  come  on  the 
eleven  o'clock  train,  and  I  shall  have  to  borrow  your 
pony  and  cart,  Margie,  to  go  to  the  station  to  meet 
her." 

"  Oh,"  said  Margie,  "  there  are  so  many  surprises ! " 

"  "Will  she  bring  a  parrot  with  her  ?  "  questioned 
Luke. 

"  No,  indeed,"  said  Aunt  Maria. 

Luke  was  eager  to  see  Mrs.  Melchin,  and  when  the 
pony  cart  came  back  from  the  station  he  was  at  the. 

gate  ready  to  lead  it  back  to  the  stable. 

187 


i88  Marjories   Way 

"  She  looks  like  a  fairy  godmother,"  the  boy  thought 
as  the  dainty  old  lady  with  her  silver  hair  and  soft 
silk  gown  stepped  out  of  the  cart. 

"  So  this  is  the  boy  who  can  carve  dogs  and  birds," 
she  said,  smiling  at  Luke.  "  I  have  heard  about  you, 
and  you  are  just  the  boy  I  have  been  looking  for. 
You  must  come  in  and  see  some  of  my  birds.  "Why,  a 
regular  family  party ! "  she  exclaimed,  as  the  door 
opened  and  Margie  and  her  mother  came  running  out. 
"  You  people  would  forget  all  about  me,"  she  con- 
tinued, looking  at  Mrs.  Philips,  "  if  I  would  let  you." 

Mrs.  Melchin  asked  Luke  all  about  his  Southern 
home,  and  the  boy  told  her  of  his  father  and  of  the 
burning  of  the  cabin.  She  listened  to  his  story  of 
going  to  the  swamp  to  watch  the  redbirds. 

"  When  you  come  to  see  me,"  she  said,  "  I  want  you 
to  watch  my  parrots,  and  if  you  can  carve  '  Beauty ' 
out  of  wood  for  me  I'll  put  it  in  the  cabinet  with  my 
bronze  and  ivory  birds." 

Mrs.  Melchin's  visit  was  a  pleasant  surprise  to  them 
all.  She  was  a  good  friend  of  Mr.  Field's,  and  he  was 
greatly  pleased  by  her  interest  in  Luke,  and  promised 
to  bring  the  boy  to  see  her  very  soon. 

The  next  day  they  were  all  invited  to  spend  the  day 
with  Farmer  "Wyman,  and  he  included  Ferdinand  and 


Marjorie 


Ada  in  the  invitation.  Marjorie  and  Mr.  Field  were  to 
go  in  the  pony  team,  while  the  others  were  to  ride  out 
in  Mr.  Webb's  three-seated  wagon. 

It  was  a  cool  autumn  morning,  and  as  they  drove 
over  the  pleasant  country  road  there  were  signs  every- 
where that  winter  was  near  at  hand.  Many  of  the 
trees  were  leafless,  and  along  on  the  walls  and  fence 
rails  could  be  seen  traces  of  frost. 

The  pony  trotted  briskly  along.  Sometimes  the 
road  would  be  nearly  carpeted  with  leaves,  and  his  lit- 
tle hoofs  made  a  soft  "  pad,"  "  pad,"  "  pad  "  as  he  went 
swiftly  over  them.  Mr.  Field  showed  Margie  how  to 
hold  the  reins,  told  her  she  must  always  turn  to  the 
right  on  meeting  a  team,  cautioned  her  about  the 
pony's  tender  mouth,  and  told  her  many  things  useful 
for  any  one  to  know  who  is  to  drive  a  pony. 

"  This  is  good  weather  to  go  nutting,"  said  Mr.  Field, 
as  they  came  in  sight  of  the  Wyman  farm.  "Last 
night's  frost  must  have  opened  the  burrs,  and  I  should 
not  be  surprised  if  Farmer  "Wyman  sent  you  little 
people  after  chestnuts." 

Margie  listened  eagerly.  It  was  pleasure  enough, 
she  thought,  to  hold  the  reins  over  "  Topsy,"  and 
watch  him  trot.  She  wished  it  had  been  a  longer 
ride  j  but  still,  when  Mr.  Field  spoke  of  going  after 


190  Marjorie 


chestnuts  she  felt  more  ready  to  turn  in  the  driveway 
that  led  up  to  the  farm. 

The  other  team  was  just  ahead  of  them,  and  Farmer 
Wyman  was  standing  at  the  door  to  welcome  them. 
As  they  drew  near  Miss  Wing  and  Mrs.  Philips  began 
to  laugh,  and  in  a  moment  they  all  were  laughing,  for 
there,  ranged  along  on  the  sunny  door-step  directly 
back  of  Mr.  Wyman,  were  seven  black  cats. 

As  Ferdinand  and  Luke  scrambled  out  of  the  wagon 
the  kittens  scampered  away  ;  only  one  sedate  old  cat 
remained  quietly  near  the  door. 

Farmer  Wyman  admired  the  pony,  and  told  Margie 
that  he  knew  all  about  it  ;  and  that  she  need  never 
feel  afraid  that  it  would  run  away,  or  kick  up  its  heels 
after  it  was  harnessed,  or  do  anything  that  a  good 
pony  should  not  do. 

"You  see  'Topsy'  has  been  well  brought  up,"  he 
explained.  "  She  has  always  been  well  treated  and  is 
used  to  kind  people.  She  has  never  been  made  nerv- 
ous and  fretful  by  loud  words  ;  so  her  head  is  steady 
and  she  understands  quickly." 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Philips  seemed  greatly  pleased  at 
what  Farmer  Wyman  had  to  say  ;  but  Margie  had  felt 
sure  from  the  first  look  at  "Topsy"  that  the  pony 
was  perfection. 


.  Marjorie  s    W^ay  1 9 1 

There  was  a  big  open  fire  blazing  away  in  the  sit- 
ting-room, but  none  of  them  felt  like  staying  indoors, 
so  Farmer  Wyman  took  them  all  out  to  the  store- 
house, which  opened  out  of  his  carriage-house,  and 
showed  them  great  bins  of  yellow  pumpkins,  and  bins 
of  turnips  and  squash,  bins  of  beets  and  onions,  until 
they  all  exclaimed  that  they  had  never  seen  so  many 
vegetables  before. 

Then  the  farmer  selected  two  round  smooth  pump- 
kins and  gave  one  to  each  of  the  boys.  "  I  guess  you 
both  have  pocket-knives,"  he  said ;  "  now  let's  see  which 
one  of  you  can  make  the  best  Jack-o'-lantern !  " 

While  Ferdinand  and  Luke  were  busy  hollowing 
out  the  pumpkins  Aunt  Maria  and  the  little  girls 
walked  down  to  some  beech-trees  a  little  way  from 
the  house.  They  found  a  good  many  nuts  ready  to 
gather,  and  when  they  returned  to  the  house  Farmer 
Wyman  said  that  after  luncheon  they  would  all  go 
after  chestnuts. 

The  grove  of  chestnut-trees  grew  on  a  high  ridge 
some  little  distance  back  of  Farmer  Wyman's  house. 
Luke  and  Ferdinand  ran  on  ahead  to  find  the  best 
places  to  gather  nuts.  The  boys  thought  it  would  be 
a  good  plan  to  shake  the  branches  of  some  of  the  trees, 


192  Marjorie 


and  so  scrambled  up  and  soon  sent  a  shower  of  nuts 
down  for  the  rest  to  pick  up. 

This  chestnut  grove  was  the  pride  of  Farmer  Wy- 
man's  heart,  and  was  nearly  as  beautiful  as  Miss 
Wing's  pine  grove.  When  the  boys  came  down  from 
the  trees  and  the  baskets  they  had  brought  were  filled 
with  nuts,  they  were  eager  to  get  back  to  the  house 
and  roast  chestnuts  before  the  open  fire. 

"  It's  a  pretty  good  place  to  roast  apples,  too,"  said 
Farmer  Wyman.  And  as  soon  as  they  were  gathered 
about  the  fire  he  brought  in  a  basket  of  red  apples, 
and  showed  the  boys  how  to  fix  pointed  sticks  by 
which  to  hold  the  apples  over  the  blaze. 

They  set  the  nuts  in  rows  in  front  of  the  coals  and 
every  now  and  then  one  would  fly  open  with  a  loud 
"  snap,"  which  made  Ada  and  Margie  jump  back  with 
surprise.  Three  of  the  black  kittens  had  come  into 
the  sitting-room,  and  whenever  a  chestnut  would  fly 
off  the  hearth  the  kittens  would  run  after  it,  and 
touch  it  cautiously  with  their  paws. 

"  Now,  I  tell  you  what,"  said  Farmer  Wyman,  look- 
ing about  the  happy  circle,  "  I  want  you  to  promise 
me  that  you  will  all  spend  Christmas  day  with  me. 
I'll  have  a  Christmas  tree  for  you." 

Every  one    accepted    this    invitation,    and    when 


Marjories   If^ay  193 

Farmer  Wyman  told  Luke  that  he  wanted  him  to 
maKe  mm  a  visit  when  summer  came,  Luke  thought 
that  nothing  could  be  more  pleasant. 

It  was  nearly  dusk  before  any  one  thought  of  home. 
Luke  and  Ferdinand  had  finished  their  Jack-o'-lanterns 
and  put  them  carefully  under  the  wagon-seat. 

"  I  think  I  must  make  a  little  sketch  of  the  pony- 
team  for  you  to  send  to  Betty,"  said  Mr.  Field  as  he 
and  Margie  drove  home. 

"  Oh,  that  will  be  lovely,"  said  Margie.  "  And,  Mr. 
Field,  would  you  make  the  picture  with  Luke  and  me 
sitting  in  the  cart  ?  " 

"  Why,  of  course  I  will,"  said  Mr.  Field. 

"  I  guess  that  will  be  Betty's  '  surprise,' "  said 
Margie,  with  a  happy  laugh ;  "  and  I  guess  she  will 
want  to  come  to  Ashley  too,  when  she  knows  what 
nice  things  happen  here." 

"  I  should  think  she  would ! "  agreed  Mr.  Field. 

"They  seem  to  keep  happening  right  along,  ever 
since  I  came  to  live  with  Aunt  Maria,"  said  Margie ; 
"  but  I  guess  there  can't  anything  nicer  happen  now 
that  mother  and  father  and  Luke  are  here,  and  I  have 
'  Topsy.'  Do  you  think  of  anything,  Mr.  Field,  that 
could  be  any  happier  ?  " 


194  Marjorie 


"Why,  no,"  said  Mr.  Field  thoughtfully,  "I  don't 
believe  I  do." 

The  next  morning  Mr.  Field  and  Luke  returned  to 
Boston.  When  Aunt  Maria  bade  Luke  good-bye  she 
said,  "  Luke,  you  have  really  begun  to  be  an  artist,  and 
we  all  expect  you  to  be  just  like  Mr.  Field." 

The  boy  smiled  up  at  her  shyly.  "  And  Margie  is 
going  to  be  just  like  you,"  he  responded. 

Marjorie  was  near  at  hand  and  said  to  Luke,  with  a 
little  tone  of  anxiety  in  her  voice,  "  It  has  to  be  grad- 
ual, you  know,  Luke.  We  can't  expect  to  be  like 
them  right  off." 

"  I  know,"  replied  the  boy  seriously. 


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